


Here I am, Baby

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Jack/Camilla - Freeform, M/M, Slow Burn, Texting, You've Got Mail AU, bitty/omc, break ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-19 08:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You've Got Mail- AUEric Bittle is devastated when the massive corporate bakery, Zimmermann's, opens around the corner from his small pie and coffee shop.  He vents his frustrations to the anonymous IG user he's been talking to, and falling for, all the while waging war against Jack Zimmermann's corporate take-over.  Little does he know the face behind the anonymous IG account, and little does he know what will happen in the future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The You've Got Mail AU that one single person asked for, and I couldn't resist because my ridiculous heart loves cheesy rom-coms. Thank you to T, for letting me rant and rave about how I wanted to incorporate the You've Got Mail idea into the Check Please universe, and never once getting annoyed by my absurdly late night texts and IMs, and in general being a glorious human being who owns my entire heart right now.
> 
> This fic should follow mostly the plot of You've Got Mail, (including the idea of online, indirect infidelity so be warned if that's upsetting to you). Some of it will go in a totally different direction, and some comes directly from the film.
> 
> Anyway I'm not entirely sure about my update schedule since I'm still working on my auction fic and everything, but I'll most definitely have this done in the next month or so. <3 xx

Oo baby, here I am, signed, sealed delivered,  
I'm yours   
Here I am baby  
Oh, you've got the future in your hand  
~Stevie Wonder

***

“Mm. Morning. Are you getting up to cook?”

Rolling over onto his side, a bleary, brown eye peered at the ugly red numbers of the clock, mocking him with their early hour. “Why’re you up right now?”

“I have that interview in Rochester. I have to be at the airport in like twenty minutes.” Chad stretched his arms above his head, then rolled over and nudged Bitty with his foot. “Seriously.”

“Seriously, it’s my one, single day to sleep in,” Bitty groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. “And the fact that Chris has been away for three weeks and he’s finally back today. Let me live.”

“Let you sleep, you mean,” Chad replied.

“Same difference.”

“I don’t have time to lecture you on the wrongness of that phrase.”

Bitty felt Chad roll the other way, and stand up off the bed as he buried his face back into the pillow and sank back down into a half-sleep. He could hear Chad grumbling, “…very own boyfriend is a literal baker and I’m eating instant oatmeal before my flight…”

He didn’t care. Well, he cared a little, but not enough to push himself out of the warm cocoon of his blankets and go into the kitchen to make breakfast. “You are a grown-ass man, Chadrick.”

“If you call me that one more time,” Chad grumbled. He was flinging shirts into his case haphazardly, which Bitty wanted to remind him about the wrinkles, but then he realised Chad’s hotel service would probably have them pressed before he had to be on TV.

As Chad finished his morning routine, and went about banging together a bowl of the instant oats, Bitty’s thoughts began to drift. A moment of hesitation, excitement, anticipation because he’d have the house to himself, and more importantly—he could jump on his laptop without fear that Chad might peer over his shoulder.

It sent a wash of guilt through him again—something he’d been feeling since he’d discovered the messaging system on Instagram, and the quiet, dry humour of the photography account he’d messaged on a whim. But he reminded himself he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

It was a small comfort, because he didn’t feel guilty for no reason.

But he was lonely, and Bitty didn’t connect with people the way he connected with @jzedphoto very often. Or ever, at all. His relationship with Chad had come through several drunken nights out where Chad had been working part time as a bartender while waiting to hear back from the sports journal.

Chad had gotten the job three weeks after meeting Bitty, and Bitty—being the sort of nice person he was—agreed to have a few drinks with Chad on his last night there. Which turned into making out, and exchanging numbers. Then texts.

It was an antagonistic relationship which Bitty didn’t totally understand the appeal of. But every book and every movie and every story published always told him that people who didn’t totally like each other eventually made the best lovers.

He was still waiting for that moment.

For now, he was going to enjoy the place to himself. The quiet, without Chad’s prattling on about sports statistics, and maybe being able to have a conversation about things he cared about.

He startled when there was a thud near the bed, then he smelt Chad’s cologne as the other man leant down and nudged Bitty with his elbow. “I’m leaving. Are you going to give me a kiss goodbye?”

“Do you want one?” Bitty challenged. “My mouth is disgusting.”

Chad sighed, then shrugged, pressing a kiss to Bitty’s temple before hiking his bag on his shoulder. “See you soon.” There was silence, then the sound of feet tromping across the polished wood floor, then Chad calling, “Love you!”

“You too,” Bitty called back.

The door shut.

He waited, anticipation tingling in his fingers, zinging up his spine. It was wrong, and he knew it, and yet he couldn’t wait to log on. To see if @jzedphoto had left him anything new, an insight, a photo of another goose, or a patch of dirty snow near the street that sort of looked like a starbucks logo.

@jzedphoto and @omgcheckplease knew very little about each other. Both accounts were abstract—Jzed’s mostly being nature, animals, and sunrises. Bitty’s was anything he found worthy of capturing—which could be from a perfectly latticed pie crust to the way the clouds turned pink at dusk. He didn’t have the same eye as jzed, but he was fairly happy with his work, and it was nice to have something that wasn’t associated with his public twitter, or his bakery.

He was a treasure in Providence. He’d been open exactly seven years and was doing well. He battled hard against places like Starbucks and Timmy’s—customer loyalty was hard to sway, but he prided himself on everything being fresh and homemade and crafted with love and attention. They weren’t always above water financially, and times were getting even harder. Bitty was feeling even more on edge when he’d hear news like Zimmermann’s—another massive corporate conglomerate, was expanding their reach from Canada to the US.

He wouldn’t worry though. He wanted to just exist, and make his pies and pastries and coffee, and enjoy the thing he’d worked so damn hard to build.

With a sigh, he stretched into a patch of morning sun, then rolled off the bed. Creeping to the window, he peered out and saw Chad and his Lyft were long gone. He was alone, and would be for the next few days.

With a grin, a shiver of curiosity, he rushed to his laptop and fired it up. The seconds it took to load felt like eternity. Watching the screen flare to life with the day’s new photo. Typing in his password, connecting to his wifi. Watching his Instagram load with the tiny, round circle letting him know it would be moments.

Moments.

Just another moment.

The little one at the top of the screen, telling him there was a message, sent a smile blooming across his face. His fingers shook as he dragged them across the touchpad, and there it was.

**@jzedphoto:**

**Last night I went for a walk with a friend of mine who lives in my building. He has a thing for those Bangal cats, the ones you can walk on a leash. He’s trained her to do a bunch of tricks, and it makes me think of my ex (who is still my best friend). He and his husband had cats before they had my nieces, and it’s been a while since he’s thought about pets, I think. With all the barbies and superheroes and star wars my nieces love so much. I think he’d really like a bangal. I could hear his laugh in my head when my neighbour told me that his cat likes to jump in the tub and swim. My ex had a rough childhood, and he always wanted a cat more than anything in the world. Apart from a husband and kids, of course. Anyway I’m thinking about getting him one for his birthday. It’s coming up this summer. I thought you might like this video of Stripes walking on his leash.**

**Thank you for that last message by the way. I was in a bad place that night. Sometimes my anxiety gets the best of me, and I think that I made the wrong choice in life. My job—and of course I can’t tell you, that was the agreement, right? Well it’s not something I ever thought I’d do. I always told myself I wouldn’t follow in my father’s footsteps, and the strangest thing was that both did and didn’t follow him. But I didn’t listen to my heart or my head. It meant my teenage years were rough, and sometimes that catches up with me. But what you said—that helped. It was grounding, and I don’t know how to thank you. It’s strange, feeling like this about a faceless stranger on the internet, and yet here I am. CheckPlease, because I don’t know what else to call you—you’re important to me. I’m glad we met.**

Bitty had to take a minute, feeling the warmth in his eyes, and his heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to fly straight out of his chest. How did a single email from a person he didn’t know make him feel like this? How did a faceless stranger on the internet—as wide as the earth was—make him feel like he was soaring.

This. This was why his guilt existed. This was why he felt the twinge every time he hid a message, or hurried into the bathroom to read on his phone while Chad sat not feet away.

Bitty didn’t plan on doing anything about these feelings, but it didn’t matter. This was what he wanted. Not the constant fighting, and antagonistic chirping, and feeling like the person he was supposed to love, supposed to have a future with, wasn’t ever going to make him happy.

He knew what he should do, but for as brave as jzed thought he was, he knew he was everything but. He was a coward.

For now though, he decided not to care. For now he’d reply. 

_Jzedphoto,_

_I like starting these emails with your name, like a letter. I miss that sometimes, you know? The old fashioned pen to paper. I haven’t done that in years. When I was nine, I won an award for penmanship, and now it looks like chicken-scratch. I write a lot at work, but mostly little notes on post-its—sometimes words of encouragement for my co-workers, but mostly reminders of what needs to be done, and I can barely understand myself anymore. The other day I saw a calligraphy set on amazon and I thought to myself, I should get that. I should get back to that boy who had that little certificate saying he had the nicest handwriting in the class._

_Seems ridiculous though, right? Who actually needs that skill? I’m sure my time can be used better elsewhere._

_And now, Mr Jzed, I have to wag my finger at you and ask you what you thought you were doing to this poor boy’s heart, sending me words like that. I was all aflutter. I had to sit here for ten full minutes before I could think of a reply._

_You are important to me too, I just hope you know that. Sometimes I wonder what we’re doing here, writing each other like this. We know so little. No names, no jobs, no faces. But I know that you love apples, and that you run every morning, and you sing Rascal Flatts in the shower. I know you get sad at night, and you feel lonely even when you’re around people, and some day you want to be as happy as your ex and his husband are. And let me tell you, mister, you deserve those things. I’m not sure what kinda help I’d ever be, but knowing I’m important to a wonderful person like you, well that makes all this worth it. Even if we never meet, or never know each other’s faces._

_Let me just say that I’m here. And I’m glad we met._

_I hope you have a wonderful day._

_Love Always,  
CheckPlease_

He hit send before he could over-think it. Then he slammed his laptop shut and rushed into the shower, and did his best to scrub away the longing, and the want, and the guilt.

*** 

Jack stared at his phone screen, and didn’t realise anyone was calling his name until he was hit in the face with a balled-up piece of paper. His eyes darted up, narrowed and murderous, and they landed on Shitty’s grin.

“You sweet little fucker. You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

“Sorry,” Jack said, scrubbing a hand down his face. He flicked his screen off, and shoved the phone into his pocket. With a sigh, he glanced round at the construction. “Should we be in here without protection.”

“I have twenty condoms in my pocket.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Shits. Isn’t this a violation?”

“We’ve had six this week. Lack of hard-hats when there’s not active construction is the least of our worries.” Shitty pulled out his own phone and flicked through the screen. “We have a TV interview with Providence Today scheduled for Friday to talk about the grand opening. And your dad wants you to do a print sit-down with some journal which is based out of Montreal, but they’re going on the stands through most of New England.”

Jack nodded absently, his mind still on those final words of the message he’d just read. _I’m here, and I’m glad we met._ He swallowed and looked over at Shitty again. “Any word on neighbourhood response? I don’t know if I can deal with protesters.”

“We always get protesters. There was that group last month who chained themselves outside that Starbucks in Boston. They saw record profit and two of the local bakeries shut down six weeks later.”

Jack sighed. “When did I get into the business of hurting locals?”

“Around the same time I sold my soul to the devil to become a corporate lawyer so I could stay by your side.”

Jack opened his mouth to retort, when he was suddenly bowled over by a massive figure. “Miss us?”

Jack sighed, turning to Ransom and Holster. “When did you get in? How is PR going?”

Holster shrugged, giving Jack a sour look. He’d known them forever, and he and Holster didn’t get on as well as he’d like, but he was also Ransom’s husband so he tolerated him as best he could. “We have a media campaign going live Thursday when we unveil the logo on the building. I’ve got Wicks dealing with back-lash on twitter, and I know Shits has some other stuff in place.”

“None of this is going to fall on your head,” Shitty assured him.

“Alright,” Jack said. He glanced at his watch. “I have lunch with my dad in twenty. You want to meet up later and talk numbers?”

“Mm, you know that gets me hot,” Shitty said, hip-checking Jack. “Anyway, yes. And then you can tell me all about the engagement.”

Jack blinked at him. “En…gagement?”

“You were looking at your phone like it hung the moon. You and Camilla are engaged, right?”

“Oh shit, bro!” Ransom said, shoving at his shoulder. “Are you fucking kidding? It’s been long enough, congrats!”

“En…no,” Jack said, shaking his head, feeling his hands shake. “Camilla and I are not engaged.” The laugh he gave came out strained and a little terrified. “God…god no.”

Shitty frowned. “I thought you loved her?”

“I do. Of course I do, she’s…great. Camilla is great.” He hated how false the words felt on his tongue because she was great, and he did love her. But marriage? He always figure the one he married would make him feel…

Like his palms were sweaty, and his heart was beating fast, and he was walking on clouds.

Sort of the way checkplease made him feel.

Though he refused to think about it.

“So…not engaged,” Shitty said.

Jack shook his head. “Trust me, you’d be the first to know.”

Shitty, Ransom, and Holster exchanged frowns, but shrugged it off. As Jack being Jack, he supposed. And maybe it was, but it didn’t erase the guilt he felt suddenly when he realised that he might be looking for something else. That maybe he wasn’t…entirely happy.

That mood carried him into his car, down the street, through the awful traffic. He pulled up at his father’s building and stepped out, handing the keys off to the valet before strolling inside. He tipped a wave to the front desk before swiping his card at the lift, and riding to the top floor.

Inside his father’s office, he spotted his dad, his uncle Mario, and a couple of women Jack didn’t recognise. They were holding cases, and what looked like fabric samples. Jack poked his head in and raised a brow at a couch that was covered in a sort of dark green faux fur.

“Redecorating?” he asked.

Bob looked up from his computer and raised a brow. “Your mother thinks I need to modernise.”

Jack snorted and shook his head. “Ah. Well.” He shrugged one shoulder, then sat on the couch and grimaced as tufts of the faux fur clung to his shirt. “Tell her her taste is…lacking.”

“Maybe she has aspirations toward muppet?” Mario offered.

Jack pulled a face. “Are we ready for lunch?”

“Shortly,” Bob said. He was clicking through something on his laptop, then grinned triumphantly. “Starbucks on third closed. I think they caught wind of our opening.”

“Means there’s a good chance they’re going to drop the ball before our press release goes out,” Mario warned.

Jack sighed. “Fantastic.” He felt less bad about a Starbucks closing than he did some of the smaller bakeries in the area, but there was a weight on him. It was business, he reminded himself. His father had quit hockey and started up this empire of coffee and baked goods, and they’d worked hard at it. He’d done it for Jack, to pull his son away from the weight and expectations and danger that was hockey. And Jack needed to remember that.

Anyone who opened a business understood the risks they were taking, especially small, independent ones. None of those small places were going to make a dent in the market. None were going take over the world by storm.

It. Was. Business.

“Jack?”

Jack glanced up at his father, who was furrowing his brows in concern. “Ouais?”

“Are you okay?”

Jack sighed. “Fine. Just…not sleeping well.”

“Things with Camilla still okay?”

Jack winced inside, but forced a smile out as he rose, brushing clumps of fake fur off his sides. “Eurgh. And yes, things are fine. She’ll be back tomorrow, actually. We have a dinner and…a few other things.”

Bob smiled softly, clapping his son on the back. “Happy?”

Jack nodded in spite of himself. He hated lying to his father, but he also didn’t expect Bob to understand, and he didn’t want to see that look on his parents’ faces. Not after everything with Kent. He couldn’t shoulder the burden of their worry right now. He already had too much on his plate.

“Come on,” Mario said. “I’ll give the boys a call and tell them to drop the tarp. We might as well get it over with, eh? Like a bandage?”

“Like a bandage,” Bob said with a grin, and threw his arm round Mario and his son as they headed out.

*** 

Rounding the corner with bags of take-away curry in his hands, Bitty was chattering on and on to Chowder about his recent ideas for the mini-pies. He didn’t realise Chowder had stopped until he turned to look at him, and found him standing a few feet back with a devastated look on his face.

“Chris, hey?” Bitty said, frowning. “What are you…” His voice trailed off when he followed Chowder’s eyeline to the massive building which had been under construction for months. The two-story monstrosity had been getting closer and closer to reveal, and everyone had assumed it was going to be something awful, like a Walmart, or something necessary like another Whole Foods.

Instead, Bitty found himself staring his own death in the face.

Or at least, the potential death of his business, and eventually his life.

Zimmermann’s. The coffee shop and bakery which was taking Canada by storm.

Zimmermann’s, which was putting the occasional Starbucks out of business.

It had the coffee world shaking with terror when they started to expand, and now there was one getting ready to open not a block away from Bitty’s Bites.

“Oh lordy,” Bitty whispered, clutching his curry tight to his chest.

“It…it’ll be okay, right?” Chowder asked quietly. “I mean…we have your pies, and everyone loves your pies. Zimmermann’s doesn’t have those.”

“No,” Bitty said decidedly, with a firm nod. “They absolutely do not have my pies.” That thought was not a comfort, and as much as things had been tough between him and Chad, he suddenly wished his boyfriend was home. If Chad was good at anything at all, it was getting indignant and furious over the threat against small business, and this was most definitely a threat. “Come on, let’s go have lunch. No sense in worrying about it now.”

Chowder nodded, but his face reflected the fear Bitty had inside.

This could very well, and very likely, be the end of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that although I'm changing the plot to fit the Check Please AU I'm working in, this fic is directly inspired by You've Got Mail--so there may be lines in here directly from the film. Or at least heavily inspired by (I watched the film last night and totally wrote down my favourite lines to incorporate into the fic)
> 
> Secondly, no one's mentioned this but there is literally no real reason for Bitty to have the name omgcheckplease. It's just his name, without any clever explanation for it.
> 
> I seriously appreciate the response to this. I'm glad everyone is shitty white-cis-het romcom, early 90s Meg Ryan trash with me. Anyway I'm super inspired to write, and I have all ten chapters plotted out so I'm just gonna ride this inspiration train until I either finish, or get stuck. Hopefully the former. <3

Jack leant back in his chair, staring at his cup of untouched coffee on the table. Ransom and Holster were pulling out their laptop, prepared for whatever spreadsheet power point they were going to give regarding PR for the new shop.

Jack had a list of bakeries and cafés that had recently gone under, both in Canada, and near their shops in New York and Massachusetts and he was torn between feeling triumphant and disappointed, because that was not why he was in the business. He could do this as long as he didn’t think about how it affected other people. He could do this if they were numbers, not faces.

“Brah, I had the longest fucking night. I feel like I’m going to fucking die.” Shitty unwrapped some sort of pastry from a plain brown bag and took a bite groaning. “Shit. This is the only thing I’m living for right now.”

Jack rolled his eyes, and thought about the most recent message he had on Instagram. Checkplease had updated a few photos, of a floured baking surface, of a pair of old, untied shoes abandoned on the pavement, and a patch of grass. Sometimes Jack swore they were Providence, and other times he’d be looking at endless fields, or a lone peach tree in front of a stone cottage and he swore he was somewhere in the deep south.

Either way, it soothed him in a way most things couldn’t.

He glanced up when Shitty raised a brow. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

Shitty hummed, then offered half his pastry over. “Have a fucking bite, Jack. You won’t regret it.”

Jack hesitated. Shitty had proven years ago he wasn’t to be trusted when it came to offering people food, but they were at work and Jack was mostly sure there wasn’t any type of anything in the pastry that might get him high. He bit into it, warm and flaky and perfect, sharp tang of peach and a sweet syrup.

“Okay,” Ransom said, dropping into his chair next to Holster. He kicked his foot up on the table, and used a clicker to navigate. “We’re doing well when it comes to social media. Our charity work is making a big difference, and the pro LGBT campaign as well as the ads.” Ransom clicked to the new screen. “Now this area of Providence is going to be tricky. These people are all about authenticity and they like their stuff quaint and old. Seeing a giant Zimmermann’s on the corner is going to piss some people off.”

Jack sighed. “What does the sign say?”

“It says ‘Coming Soon, Zimmermann’s. Soon enough it’ll be the place to grab a bite.” Holster peered at the screen to make sure he’d had it correct. “Something like that.”

It was innocuous enough, Jack supposed. “I think it’ll do.”

“And you expect to win them over in the end?” Shitty challenged, finishing up his pastry.

Jack shrugged. “Of course.”

“You sound certain,” Shitty said, nudging him.

Jack rolled his eyes. “I am. We’re in an economy where even these starch-shirted hipsters who want their coffee as organic and dark as their neck-beards, will do a lot to save money. It’s why Whole Foods have seen a decrease, and Walmart an increase. We’re selling people cheap but tasty baked goods and legal stimulants they all think they need to get through their day. In the end, they’re going to go for what leave their wallet the most full.” 

“Harsh,” Shitty said.

“And true,” Jack countered. “We have what left?”

Ransom flicked through the power point. “One Starbucks on fifth, and one small shop a block away from the new store.”

“Who’s that?” Jack asked, his brow furrowed.

“A place called Bitty’s Bites,” Ransom said. “Open seven years, owner is a single guy with a small staff and he closes when his stuff sells out. Which is nearly every day, according to our research.”

Shitty sighed. “It’s fucking heavenly. Shit, if we run them out, I’ll never be the same.” He stroked the bag, and Jack realised that’s where it came from.

“There’s not much I can do about that,” Jack said with a shrug. “And you’re the one who wants the paycheque.”

“I hate myself,” Shitty said.

Jack snorted. “Yeah well, we all reach that point sometime in our lives. Welcome to the club, Shits.”

“You’re a lawyer called Shitty,” Ransom pointed out. “You were already halfway there. Now…I want to talk social media campaign about raising awareness for mental illness in the area. Jack, I think this is right up your alley…”

*** 

“…and then Derek was like, well we can just take the whole thing to go. So they start packing it up and…” Chris trailed off when he realised Bitty had been standing by the baking table, his hands halfway buried in a vat of flour and butter, smiling. “Bits?”

Bitty startled. “Sorry, hun. That’s…that sounds harrowing.” He stopped, smiled, and said, “A faceless stranger, and yet here I am.”

Chowder cocked his head to the side, then a quiet smile crept over his face. “You’re in love.”

Bitty blinked at him. “What? No! Don’t be ridiculous I’m not…oh! Oh yes, of course. I’m in love with Chad, yes. I love Chad.”

Chowder dropped the scoop he was using for the cookies, and crossed his arms. “Bits. Spill.”

Bitty felt his cheeks heat up as he began to crush the butter into the flour again. He stared at his hands, feeling the desire to just unload everything he’d been holding on to since he’d first messaged jzedphoto several weeks back.

He took in a shaking breath, then asked, “Is it cheating if you’re involved with someone online?”

Chowder held up a finger, then turned to the double oven and shoved the first tray in. He set the timer, then hooked a stool with his foot and plopped down as Bitty dumped the dough onto the floured counter and began to knead. “Tell me.”

Bitty sighed. “Okay so…Chad was away, right? On this ten day project, and he’d missed my birthday—didn’t even call. I mean I don’t blame him, he was workin’ and…” Bitty trailed off, shaking his head. “Not important. Anyway, so I started perusing the search page on Instagram, you know? Where it brings up photos that are related to your likes or whatever. And there was this shot of the moon over a dark pond and it just…I dunno. It was beautiful. Amateur, but like…I’d never seen anything like it. So I hopped over to the page and I started going through everything. This person…Chris, he’s…fantastic. His eye for the shot is…he said he doesn’t do it professionally and I can’t believe it. So I sent him a message, just an innocent hello…”

“And now it’s become less innocent?” Chowder pointed out. “Have you two had sex?”

Bitty’s face blushed furiously hot. “Oh my god, no. We don’t even know each other!”

“No I mean like…skype or sexting.”

Bitty shook his head. “No, none of that. We don’t know anything about each other. No names, no faces, no jobs, nothing. But for all the nothing we talk about, it’s starting to feel like…”

“Something,” Chowder finished for him

Bitty sighed, grabbing for his rolling pin and his cut-out for the mini-pies. “And honestly I’m just not sure what it means. Which then makes me feel…like it’s wrong, but it’s not because it’s nothing. Though I’m thinking about stopping because it’s getting a bit…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Confusing,” Bitty corrected. 

Chowder bit his lip as he started work on the croissants, grabbing the chocolate and the almond filling. “Does Chad know?”

Bitty had to look away when he said, “No. It didn’t seem worth tellin’ him about. He’s…got a bit of a temper.”

Chowder snickered. “Do you realise that he could live here, Bitty? Like…he could come in here every day and you wouldn’t know it!”

“I know,” Bitty said with a laugh. “I keep thinkin’ that every darn time someone takes a photo of their food. Is that him? Is he the one?”

“It could be the next guy that comes in! It could be Dex.”

“Bite your tongue,” Bitty admonished. “It isn’t Dex.”

Chowder smirked. “What if it’s Tango?”

Bitty froze. “It…” He shook his head. “Nah. Nah, it’s not Tango. Heck, it could be Chad if I thought he had an inkling for photography.”

Chowder made a noise under his breath. He’d never really made it secret how much he was not a fan of Chad, but Chowder was also the sort who wouldn’t be pushy about someone else’s choices. “Well I don’t know what to say, Bits. I mean, it’s not my thing but if it makes you happy…”

Bitty sighed, swiping his floured hand across his brow, leaving a trail of white dust. “I’m just tryin’ not to think much about anything right now, considering the mess we got on our hands.”

“You talk to Lardo about it?” Chowder asked. “I mean…I can’t lose this job, Bitty. I can’t…”

“Tell me you’re not firing Chowder,” came a voice from the doorway.

Bitty looked up and rolled his eyes when Tango crossed his arms. “Of course I’m not firing Chowder.”

“Good. Because you know I’m not good at all this baking shit, right? And Dex only comes in part time, and I don’t think I could handle the pressure.”

“Tango, you sweet summer child, if you think I’d let you near this kitchen…”

“There’s a Zimmermann’s opening round the corner,” Chowder supplied.

Tango’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Um.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said with a sigh. “But I promise y’all, it’s nothing to worry about, okay? We been here seven years and they love us here. No one has pies like us.”

“I just,” Chowder said, his brow furrowed, “I can’t afford to live in Providence without this job. I’d be stuck going back to the dorms, Bitty! The dorms!”

“You could join a frat, C,” Tango said. “Six rooms, four hundred a month…”

“And deal with Greek life? Thanks but no thanks,” Chowder said with a scoff. “I’ve only got a year and a half left. Please tell me it’s going to be alright,” he begged.

Bitty shook his head. “Chris, I swear to you. Whatever happens, you’re going to be alright.”

He hated himself a tiny bit, because he wasn’t entirely sure he believed that.

*** 

_Dear Jzed,_

_I feel like a mess right now. My head’s twisted round, and for the first time, I feel threatened. Thanks to the fact that we can’t give each other specifics I can’t tell you why or how, but I’ve been feeling so lonely._

_Tonight I stopped and bought myself flowers. It felt pathetic, but they’re pink daisies, and I can’t stop staring at the way they brighten my little apartment. I put them in the middle of the table, and every time I walk through the room, I smile. Does that make me ridiculous?_

_Sometimes I wonder how I got here, you know? My life, my job. I came from…a place where it was unfriendly to be gay. It’s alright I’m telling you that, isn’t it? That I’m gay? Well I am, and it hasn’t been easy. My background is conservative and coming out to my parents was the second most terrifying thing I have ever done. My dad doesn’t like to think about it, but I don’t come around often, and they’ve never met my boyfriend so I think it’s easier for him._

_But then I wonder why I should make it easier on them to not think about me. About all of me._

_I don’t think they’d like my boyfriend much. He’s rough around the edges, and we clash at every turn. My friends keep telling me that it keeps the relationship alive, fresh, like you’re always working for it. It’s how it works in all the movies, and in all the books. But sometimes I have to wonder if maybe they’re wrong. My co-worker is happy with his boyfriend. It’s a lot of love, and sometimes I get so jealous I can’t stand it._

_I distract myself with silly things. An old childhood hobby of figure skating. I don’t know if you skate, but you know, twirling around the ice with music blasting in my ears, I’ve never in my life felt so free. The other day I bought a book, Cantilever. Silly little indie novel about a guy who gets into figure skating after an injury and falls in love. Anyway, it’s not something I talk about a lot. Drew too much attention to myself and being where I came from…I never wanted that, and I think the habit stuck. But tonight I’m craving the ice, and what I’d give for access to a rink just to clear my head._

_Oh well. I have the book to keep me company._

_Sorry to ramble at you like this. You’re not my diary, and I know we don’t know each other, but the idea that you’re out there somewhere just listening, maybe caring a little bit. It…_

_It means everything._

_I hope you have a nice night, Jzed. I hope your life is happy._

_Truly Yours,  
CheckPlease_

*** 

“…so she waltzes in like she owns the place even though she hasn’t done anything for this charity and expects me to give her credit. So she’s on my shit-list. We are not speaking. And that includes you.”

Jack hummed at his paper, letting Camilla’s voice filter through his head. When he felt a smack on his arm, he looked up at his girlfriend who was twisting her hair into a plait. “Sorry. Yes. We’re not speaking to Michele.”

Camilla huffed. “Or her sister. Or her coach. I’m not putting in these sort of man hours…” Her voice trailed off into a dull thrum as she fixed her coffee and Jack tried to pay attention.

And failed. Because his phone had an unread message from CheckPlease and it felt like an eternity until he’d be alone to check it.

“Tell me again when Kenny’s getting here?”

Jack hummed. “I think he and Alexei are flying in on Thursday.”

“And you’ll have the kids for how long?” she asked, her nose wrinkling.

Jack sighed. He loved her, he respected that she wasn’t a kid person, but he loved his nieces more and it was hard with her flitting off every time they came around. Kent and Alexei were well aware Camilla was not a fan, and it meant visits with them were fewer and far between since she and Jack had moved in together.

“They’ve got a couple benefits, so I’m taking them for the weekend.”

“Just as well,” she said, sipping her coffee. “We have dinner with Randall on Monday evening.”

Jack sighed. “Yes, I remember. My parents are supposed to be there too.” He stopped. “You never scoff at being around his kids.”

Camilla laughed, leaning down to brush a kiss to his temple. “Yes. Because he has a nanny. See you tonight?”

“Yeah. Meet you there.”

Another kiss, and then she was out the door like a hurricane, the door slamming in her wake. He hesitated only a minute, then crept to the window and watched her slip into her car, and disappear. His fingers hummed with anticipation as he sank into his favourite arm-chair, pulled out his phone, and began to read.

*** 

**CheckPlease,**

**There are nights I question my existence. Some days too. I’m in a career I always assumed I’d be in, and yet some days I’m profoundly aware my life might have taken a different turn. I used to day dream about it when I was younger, and things were…harder for me to process. I’m getting better at it, but the people I know still make fun of me because I don’t emote the same as they do. It’s just easier for me, I guess, to compartmentalise.**

**I certainly don’t mind you telling me you’re gay. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m bisexual, and it’s always been something that defined me. I don’t have the same experience as you. I was never taught to be afraid of what that might mean for me, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But I’m in awe of your strength. Whatever the threat is against you, I’m more afraid for them. Your fire, even without knowing you, burns hot even from here. There’s never a moment I can’t feel the warmth from it.**

**I have a love-hate relationship with ice, but I do know how to skate. I’ve never considered figure-skating, but I may or may not have a certain book downloaded on my kindle right now. I might not have time for a while, reading is something I have to squeeze in during quiet moments of reprieve, most of which only last seconds. But I trust you.**

**I wish I could give you better advice, but even if I knew you in person, I’m not sure I’d trust myself. I believe in you, though. And I can tell you to not be lonely—remind you I’m here, just an email away, but I know the feeling. That crushing loneliness which can threaten to suffocate you, even in a room full of people.**

**I know from experience though, that it passes, and I have faith it will pass for you too.**

**Can I confess something to you, stranger on the internet who takes gorgeous photos of dandelions growing in the cracks of the sidewalk? I’ve never felt so free than when I’m emailing with you. The way my heart races, and my fingers shake with anticipation. I’m no stranger to anxiety, but this is wholly different. This thrill I get when I know I have a message waiting from you. And even when it’s not the happiest, just the fact that you think of me brings a smile to my face.**

**So even if it doesn’t help, I am here. I am.**

**It gets better. I promise it does.**

**~J**


	3. Chapter 3

_Jay,_

_Is it okay if I call you Jay? I know so little about you, and yet so much. And nothing’s personal, and everything is. So I’m just going to call you that. I have the most ridiculous nickname, the most ridiculous screen name. I can’t imagine what you call me, but I have to tell you, Jay—even imagining that you think about me, even if it’s in passing, just once a day, even once a week, it brings a smile to my face. How does a faceless stranger on the internet—in the world, which is vast and overwhelming—manage to make me feel so damn important._

_I’m feeling sad today. Lost. Confused. Lonely in a room full of people._

_We talked about that before, didn’t we?_

_When I feel awful, sometimes I cook. You can see from my photos I love baking, but I’ll tell you a secret, I love doing other things too. I like to knit. The quiet clicking of needles—I always buy bamboo, I love the soft feeling of polished wood under my fingers—the way the yarn threads through each loop. It’s one of the most soothing things on the planet. Sometimes I make youtube videos of the things I knit. Silly, I know. Maybe a little telling, but there are so many damned knitting channels out there, I don’t think I’m giving anything away._

_Today I think I’ll make a hat. A friend of mine gave me sports team colour yarn and you know, I don’t care a lot about sports, but I’m trying to be loyal. Maybe I’ll knit it for him. I think a nice, wool hat is like a warm hug in a way, and it’s getting colder here._

_I hope you have a wonderful day. I hope you think of me once._

_Yours truly,  
CheckPlease_

*** 

**I’ve shortened your name in my head to omgcp. Silly, I think, but easier in a way. I said it to a friend the other day and he laughed at my accent. I have an accent—a new fact for your library of Jay things you know—something telling, that won’t give anything away. Like knitting youtube channels.**

**I like the name you gave me. It feels strange and intimate.**

**And to answer your question- I think about you all the time. Moments when I should be, moments when I shouldn’t be. Sometimes I wonder if I should start viewing it as a problem, but it’s hard to care when it feels so nice. I have no idea what you look like, but I still try to imagine your smile, and it gets me through tough moments.**

**Today I’m getting a coffee before I head to work. I’ve never been a big coffee person. Or I wasn’t, but the caffeine gets me through the day. I think coffee orders say a lot about people. Dark and bitter for people who want to appear strong, the sweet vanilla for those who want the world to know they have a soft side. You can bear your soul, or hide who you are with such a small drink.**

**Double-shot skim Americano.**

**I wonder what that says about me.**

*** 

There was little in the world that brought him as much peace as feeling his blades cut into fresh ice. The soft sounds as he pushed from one end of the rink to the other. The air was cold, no matter how much he bundled up, and it reminded him of his childhood. Of home.

He’d felt strange when his dad decided to buy a hockey team. It was a private investment, he didn’t want to be the public face of the Providence Falconers, and maybe it was for Jack’s sake. Because there were moments Jack felt cheated out of a future he might have had. His dad insisted it saved him scrutiny and privacy, but sometimes Jack wondered if maybe his father just didn’t have faith in him that he could shoulder the identity of being Bad Bob’s son.

Either way, it was what it was.

He learnt to skate when he was fifteen. He’d been like a baby giraffe on the ice for a while, but it didn’t take long for him to get it. Kent was the one who’d held his hand the entire time. Their palms sweated against each other, and Kent had checked him into the boards, and then kissed him.

No matter how far away from that past he was, the ice would always be a little bit about that first kiss.

He closed his eyes and took a breath of the sharp, cold air. He liked the bite in his lungs, the way it refreshed him from the inside out. His eyes opened and he circled the rink a few more times before the doors opened, and he could hear the quiet, excited chatter of small children.

His heart leapt. 

Jack had wanted a family since he could remember. He didn’t care how he got it, or when, or with whom—which he supposed might have been telling about his relationship with Camilla—but he wasn’t ready to unpack that just now. He knew she didn’t want kids. He told her it was fine.

And it was.

For her.

But for him…

“Uncle Jack!”

He skated over to the wall, leaning over the side to grab the smallest girl. Her brown curls bounced round her face, her wide eyes, a mix of blue and green and grey, were glowing as he smacked kisses across her cheeks.

“Hello Miss Mimi. How are you today?”

“Good,” she said, her voice still small and sweet in that four year old way.

He dropped her and tugged the taller one close to him, her hair more of a dark blonde, freckles across her nose just like her father in a way that made a tiny ache in Jack’s chest flare back to life. But her brown eyes were her Papa’s. He kissed her cheek, and ruffled her hair. “And you, my darling Elly. How are you?”

“Good! Daddy said you’re gonna take us to the fair!”

Jack rolled his eyes up to his best friend—and ex—who was smirking at his daughters. “He is. He’s going to spoil you rotten and spend all his money making you happy because that’s his job.”

Jack scoffed as he came round the exit, and leant up against the wall. The girls ran off to run up and down the stairs, and Jack accepted a quick hug from both Kent and Alexei.

“Thanks for this,” Kent said. “Seriously. My mom won’t be back in the country until next month and as much as the girls would love me to ship their tiny butts over to Paris…”

“I get it,” Jack said.

“They keep you tired. Hope you take lot of vitamins,” Alexei reminded him.

Jack rolled his eyes. “I think we’ll be fine. This isn’t my first time, and I had them for that week Mimi had croup, if you recall. No one died.”

“No, but you chirped me on twitter for like a month,” Kent reminded him.

There was a crash, and Alexei turned his head, shouting something in Russian at them.

“Oy prasteetye, papochka!” Elly called, and helped Mimi to her feet.

Alexei rolled his eyes and turned back to Jack. “See. Keep you on your toes, every day.”

Jack shook his head. “We’ll be fine. Have some faith, and go have fun, eh?”

“I’m go get bags. Give keys, I put in your car, yes?” Alexei said.

Jack dug into his pocket grabbing his keys and he tossed them to Alexei who ordered the girls to follow and help. They scurried after him, and when the door slammed, Kent turned to Jack with accusing eyes.

“Okay you seem way more morose than usual, Zimms. What the hell is going on?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“I know leaving Montreal wasn’t like on your list of shit to do, but…”

“No,” Jack said quickly. “No, crisse, that isn’t what…it’s not about that.”

Kent crossed his arms. “So what? Things in the crapper with Camilla or…?”

“Why does everyone assume it’s about her? I’m happy—everyone assumes I proposed. I’m feeling low, and she’s leaving me. Seriously I’m allowed to have my own shit going on.”

Kent’s face scrunched up. “I have literally never told you that your mood has to revolve around whoever the fuck you’re dating. Just…you seem low and trust me, I know how relationship crap can fuck shit up.”

Jack sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ve just…been thinking. About…everything, I guess. Like why the hell we’re suddenly invested in this massive corporate take-over of the bakery world. Or why the hell I live here. Or why I’m with a woman who wants none of the same things I do in life.”

“But you love her?” Kent asked.

Jack softened and he nodded. “I do. She’s…amazing, you know. I’ve never seen anyone command a room the way she can. She’s gorgeous and funny and…”

“And you’re not happy.”

“I’m afraid of settling,” Jack said. “And I’ve been talking to this guy…”

“Oh shit,” Kent said. “Let me guess, small, blonde, sporty…”

“Not everyone I date is a copy of you,” Jack said drily.

Kent rolled his eyes. “I’m saying you have a type.”

“Well joke’s on you, Kenny. I’m not dating this guy. I don’t even know him. We met online and we don’t know anything about each other. Only…”

“Only?” Kent pressed.

Jack flushed and glanced at the floor. “Only we do. I know he likes to bake, and that he knits when he’s feeling stressed out, and he loves pink daisies. I know he cares about what other people think too much, and that he knows what it’s like to feel isolated and alone in the middle of a crowd. And…”

“And it’s making you question what you’re doing with your life?” Kent pressed.

Jack licked his lips. “Maybe.”

“Why don’t you ask if he wants to meet.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “I don’t even know where he lives. Fuck, he could be in Australia or something for all I know.”

“So?” Kent said, and when Jack raised a brow at him, he rolled his eyes. “Christ, Zimms, are you a multi-millionaire or not? You could fly fucking anywhere. Just ask him, yeah? I mean shit, if you don’t think I’d build a fucking bridge between New York and Moscow if I had to, just to have access to Alexei…”

Jack felt something stirring in his gut. Not jealousy, really, but envy. Because he’d loved Kent once, but not like that—not the way Kent loved Alexei, and not the way Jack thought whoever he ended up with deserved to be loved.

“I just don’t know if I have room in my life right now for something complicated. And Camilla…”

“Will probably understand if you actually talk to her,” Kent pointed out. The door clanged back open, and the girls rushed in, Alexei tailing them.

“Come on or we missing flight.” He tugged Kent into a soft kiss, and then they quickly said bye to the girls before heading out.

Jack’s phone buzzed a second later, and he looked down at the text from Kent. _Just ask. What’s the worst he can say? No_

Only that was the worst. Because Jack wasn’t sure he could take a rejection like that. Not with the way omgcp made him feel. He didn’t even know his name, and he was already so wrapped up in the idea of him. It was the worst thing he could do.

So he shoved his phone away, determined not to think about it, and he clapped his hands together. “Alright, girls. You ready to skate?”

The cry echoed off the walls. “Noooooo!” And Jack laughed as they dragged him away from the ice.

*** 

It wasn’t that Jack didn’t appreciate a good street fair, it was more that looking after a three and eight year old in a crowd that size was a little terrifying. But Halloween was the next day and since the girls had grown up—in the short years they’d been growing up—with Kent Halloween Is The Only Holiday Parson—it was a big deal.

It led to Jack wearing cat ears with a nose and whiskers painted on, Elly dressed like a character from Star Wars—Rey, she said, and he had no idea who that was but he praised her costume all the same. And Mimi was a spider which was, according to her, the best animal.

“It’s not even an animal. It’s a bug,” Elly sneered, flicking one of Mimi’s fuzzy, glittery spider legs.

“It’s not a bug!” Mimi said, and kicked at Elly’s leg.

Before the fight could devolve into some sort of children’s Fight Club, Jack spotted a bakery near by. His heart twisted a little when he stared at the burnt wood sign above the door reading Bitty’s Bites, a little peach beside that. But there was a sign telling parents to bring their kids in to decorate Halloween cookies.

And really, Jack could use a cup of coffee. And a break.

“Who wants to paint cookies?”

The girls cheered, and he ushered them inside with their sack of treats, a small bag of candied apples that were probably destined for the bin, and a bunch of fuzzy animal ears which would end up in the back of a closet somewhere, but the girls had insisted they _needed_ them like they needed to breathe.

The place was cleared out when they entered, and Jack’s heart sank as he fixed his eyes on a man clearing up one of the tables. “Did we miss it?” Jack asked.

The guy glanced up—he was dressed like a shark, though it looked like half his face-paint had smeared away. “Yeah, sorry. We just finished. You can still buy some Halloween cookies if you want but…”

Just as Mimi’s face fell and her lip wobbled, a man wearing a bunny costume—hood slightly askew—popped out. “Hey, it’s okay. We have some extras and I certainly don’t mind settin’ up. Chowder, hun, you wanna man the counter and I can help miss…Rey, is it?”

Elly nodded. “Yeah!”

“And this gorgeous little spider paint some cookies.”

The girls cheered, and Jack’s shoulders sagged. “Thanks,” he murmured.

The bunny-man clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re more than welcome. Why don’t you get yourself a cup of coffee and maybe a slice of pie while we get set up, huh?”

Jack almost argued, feeling bad that he was letting some stranger play babysitter, but it would only be for a second, and he really needed the boost. He set his things on the table where the bunny-man was pulling out a fresh box of cookies, and liquid food colouring, and then wandered to the counter. It was a gorgeous display, the wares obviously homemade, but they looked sweet and delicious.

“Hey,” said the shark guy, startling Jack’s gaze upward. “Anything I can help you find?”

Jack peered at his name badge—Chris, it read, but he’d heard the bunny-man call him Chowder so… “Anything you recommend?” Jack asked.

“Apple’s the special. Because you know…Halloween,” Chris said with a toothy grin. “And Bitty’s makes the best apple pie you’ll ever have. I recommend it, but also be warned—it’ll ruin you for all other pie.”

Jack, who never was much for pie, and frankly had never been able to tell the difference between good and bad, shrugged. “Okay. That sounds good. And coffee. Just black today, I think.”

Chris nodded. “You want to close out now or wait…” He gestured toward the girls who were excitedly picking out colours for their cookies.

“We’ll wait. I’m sure they’ll want to take home half the bakery before we’re done.” 

Chris laughed, then turned and poured a hot cup of coffee into a wide mug with apple trees painted across the white ceramic. He handed it over, before reaching into a proving drawer, pulling out a pie. “Keeps it at the exact temperature you should enjoy a slice of apple pie,” Chris said when he saw Jack’s curious look.

Not that Jack would know. Their bakery was more in the way of Croissants and muffins, and danishes. They did occasional pie and coffee cakes, but they all came from a supplier, pre-mixed or pre-baked, and nearly ready to serve. It made storage easy, and prep even easier, and they rarely ran out.

From what Jack could see here, Bitty’s was nearly empty, and he recalled Rans and Holster saying Bitty closed up for the day whenever they ran out of food.

It was…a strange set-up, and he wasn’t sure it made much financial sense.

But he wasn’t here for that, and frankly, there was a chance Bitty’s wouldn’t be around much longer. Not that he wanted to clue them in.

He took his pie and coffee, and went back to the table where he heard Elly saying, “…buy me five hundred cookies if I want them!”

The bunny-man looked over as he helped Mimi finish her last stroke of black over her spider cookie. “Well, your dad is a very nice man if he buys you that many cookies.”

Jack choked a little on his coffee as Elly said, “Oh no. That’s my uncle.”

“Yeah,” Mimi said, rubbing at her nose and smearing black across it. “Pea-cos he just loved my daddy but then he didn’t and daddy meeted papochka and then he haved us but Uncle Jack he didn’t loved daddy any more.”

The bunny-man raised a brow at Jack. “Ah. Well…I suppose that’s how it goes sometimes?”

Jack flushed. “Ah. It’s…well I’d say it’s different but that’s pretty much how it is. Their dad is my ex.”

The bunny-man smiled, then eyed Jack’s untouched plate. “You going to eat up, mister? Trust me, this is the best pie you’ll ever have.”

Jack sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched a little, and he felt even more guilt rush through him because this place was just so light and friendly. He dug his fork into the pie and took a bite, and his eyebrows flew up. He hadn’t been lying when he described himself as not a pie person, but this…this was something new. And amazing.

“Wow,” he said.

Chris, who came up with a towel to wipe things down, grinned. “Right? And you’ll be back, won’t you?”

Jack frowned. “Ah. Of course I will.”

“See,” the bunny-man said. “Our customers are loyal.” When Jack’s frown deepened, he said, “They’re opening up a Zimmermann’s around the corner.”

“Oh! My Pépé and…”

“Shhh,” Jack said, cutting Elly off. “Family likes to buy at those discount places. Haha. Hey mon petit lapin, why don’t you take your sister and pick out some cookies, yeah? That we can take home with us?”

Elly gave him a pointed look, but held her hand out for Mimi’s hand and dragged her toward the case. Jack flushed but he finished his pie, then stood up. “Er. Can I ask who you are?”

The bunny-man glanced down where his name badge was obscured by a glob of dough, and smear of flower. “Oh lordy, look at me. I’m a mess!” He swiped it clean, revealing the name Eric, printed against the shining black. “Eric Bittle, but everyone calls me Bitty. I own this shop.”

Jack felt his heart sink. Eric was full of sunshine and sweet smiles and gentle laughs, and Jack…was the enemy. Jack was…the worst thing that would probably happen to this man.

He cleared his throat. “I’m Jack.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” Eric said, and he swept up the mess, then guided everyone to the counter. “Girls, what did you decide?”

They chattered out their favourite cookies, and Eric began to box them up. “Maybe a few more slices of pie?” Jack offered.

Eric laughed. “How about one whole one. For bein’ so sweet.” He grabbed a fresh pie out of a warmer, and eased it into a box.

All the while, Chris began to ring them up. “Two dozen assorted cookies, coffee, one pie slice, and one pie. That’ll be fifty-two seventy-five.”

Jack nearly choked on his own tongue. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good for it, but it was just so much. He fished through his wallet, realising he couldn’t pay with his card unless he wanted to give himself away, but luckily had enough cash. He passed over sixty. “Put the rest in the tip jar.”

Eric beamed at him. “You girls promise to come see me soon?”

“We promise!” they said.

Eric shook his head. “So sweet. Someday I’m going to leave this place to my kiddos.”

Jack felt his stomach sink a little as he gathered the boxes into his arms. “How old are your kids now?”

Eric frowned. “Kids?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh lordy, no. I don’t have kids. I just mean you know…some day it would be nice. First I have to find a husband but…” He flushed pink in his cheeks and shrugged. “You know how it goes. But yes, I’m going to be sticking around, Jack. Just you watch. We provide service, and the best pies anyone’s ever had. So corporate or not, the Big Bad Zimmermann’s can just go to…” He lowered his voice and whispered, “…hell.”

“Aha,” Jack said. “I uh…I bet they can. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for the pie.”

Eric beamed at him, winking, making Jack’s heart pound in his chest. “You’re very welcome, Jack. We’ll be seeing you soon.”

They managed to get out the door, and a block away before Elly said anything. “Uncle Jack? Why’d you shush me when he said Zimmermann’s?”

Jack sighed. “It’s complicated chérie. Grown-up nonsense. Don’t worry about it.”

“Grown ups always say that,” she said with a pout.

Jack laughed as he nudged her. “Some day you’ll understand all the things we say. And when that day comes, you’ll wish you didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of come comments, I just wanted to address a couple things here, none of which pertains to this chapter so I'm just adding the notes at the end.
> 
> 1\. Camilla and Chad aren't villains, really. They're mild antagonists at best--Chad a little worse than Camilla cos you know, he's a LAX bro and ffffuck the LAX bros. But I want to make it clear that Camilla really just wants different things. She loves her career, and her alone time, and she doesn't like kids. Jack knew all that about her before he started dating her--but he's coming to realise that he wants something else in life and Bitty is helping him explore that. And the means are a tad bit...problematic, because infidelity. But I don't want Camilla painted as a villain just because she's a woman who doesn't love children. That's totally valid, it just bums Jack out a little.
> 
> 2\. I want to make it clear that I am aware that You've Got Mail is a problematic fave. The original is a white, cis-het couple which--boring. And it lets the big corporation win which sucks, but is also fairly realistic (and expect this fic to follow canon in that regard--so if that upsets you, I won't be offended if you stop reading). But I don't need a lecture on how problematic this idea is. I know, trust me. But you know what, we can all enjoy a little problematic content from time to time, and I'm doing so with this fic. The comments I got (which frankly put me off the story for a bit) have been deleted. And I don't really plan to engage anything more regarding the content of the fic. I love everyone else's responses so far. I'm excited that you're excited because this trope has such a CUTE potential, and I'm having fun with it. And I'd just like to keep it light-hearted.
> 
> 3\. Extra kudos and thanks to everyone else who's commented so far. You've really kept me motivated. <3


	4. Chapter 4

Jack’s coffee was halfway to his mouth when his father said, “Well, I think we’re alright here.”

He turned his head. “Alright here?”

“No signs, no protests, no chats, no angry internet boycotts. This is one of the best soft openings we’ve had in a long time.”

“You’re welcome,” Adam said, and Jack raised a brow. “What? The week before launch we did that pet adoption charity to get their heart-strings pulled and they’re willing to spend money in our shop.”

Jack swallowed his coffee and tried to ignore the bitter that came with it. The idea that his PR team was exploiting decent charities to make sure they could outsell other shops felt…uncomfortable. He glanced at his father who was engrossed in his phone, and he wondered if it bothered Bob as much as him.

It was hard to tell. Bob had been swept up from Juniors and raced his way through records, into the NHL, winning cup after cup until he was injured so badly, he nearly died. Jack had been a baby, and panic had set in—a fear of dying before his son knew his name, a fear of hockey being so important that Jack followed in his footsteps and it ruined his life.

So Bob retired, and took his millions, and created something safe.

Jack had not been spared the consequences of being born with an anxiety disorder, the troubles that came with it, the knowledge that it was forever and there was no cure, and this _was_ his normal. And it had taken years for Bob and Alicia to accept it.

Jack’s gaze floated over to his mother who was regarding the room the way she always did, with sharp concentration and kindness. She was supposed to be on set in France in a week for her current filming project—she was directing now that acting had taken a toll, but it kept her away more than she was here, and Jack couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel with a partner that he loved as much as Bob loved her. The separation had to hurt.

“We’re calling it a success, then?” Jack said.

“So far,” Justin replied. He leant back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. “Give it a week, then pat yourself on the back. But I have a feeling that Bitty’s place is going out with a whimper, not a bang.”

Alicia’s eyebrows went up, and she glanced at Shitty. “Isn’t that the pie place you took me last week?”

Shitty nodded, his face drawn. “That’s the one. A mother fucking beaut, and a mother fucking shame. Bakers around the world will weep for that one.”

“If he’s really that good,” Adam said with a shrug, “his quality would win over quantity and discount.”

“Clearly you don’t understand the world we live in today,” Shitty all-but snapped. “We’ve sold our souls, my friends.”

Bob had looked up at this point, his eyes—so much like Jack with their perpetual sadness, dark brown and moody—fixed on Jack first, then on Alicia. He sighed. “It is what it is.”

“C’est la vie,” Justin replied.

Jack sat back, and tried to ignore the stone now settled in the pit of his stomach.

*** 

_omgcp,_

_I’m feeling strange. Questioning what I’m doing with my life. Why I’m…here, you know? A meeting at work had me wondering why I did what my parents wanted me to do. Was it because it was the safe option? Was it because I wasn’t brave enough? I’ve never felt like a coward until now. How do you know if you are one, or if you’re just the product of your upbringing?_

_Is there actually a difference?_

*** 

“Okay,” Bitty said, taking a breath. His calves ached from the pacing as Larissa ran the numbers, and he felt like crawling out of his skin because he couldn’t read her expression. Good? Bad? Neutral? Bitty knew it wasn’t the same. For the first time in months they closed their doors with food left over to donate to the local soup kitchen. Thursday had enough that both Dex and Chowder had to take their own cars for the delivery. He swallowed thickly. “Let me have it. But like…softly.”

Lardo blinked at him, then propped her chin on her curled fist. “Five percent.”

“Five percent,” Bitty said. He breathed. “I mean…that could be like…a fluke, right? The weather was kind of bad and…it might just be…temporary.”

“Or not,” she said drily. Sitting back, she clicked through her computer again. “We’re two grand less than this day last year.”

“Shit,” Bitty breathed. He felt a little dizzy, and groped for a chair, sinking down with his face in his hands. “It’ll get better. It has to get better, right? Our customers are loyal.”

“They’re loyal, but not to a fault,” she said. “I’m sorry, Bits. I don’t want to be that guy, but this is what I do, and I can tell you that more than people love fresh peach pie, they love ten scones for five dollars.”

“Is that seriously what they sell them for?” Bitty asked, dropping his hands, eyes wide. “Seriously?”

“They come pre-baked, and they heat them in a microwave,” Lardo said with a shrug. “I’ve never been in, but I know their process and demographics as well as I know ours. I’m sorry, but people want volume, not quality.”

“That can’t be true,” Bitty whispered. “Not for everyone. We can recover from two grand.”

“We can,” she said, “as long as it’s not a steady drop.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Bitty breathed in and out, slow and shallow so as not to hyperventilate. He didn’t look up again until the back door swung open, and both Dex and Chowder walked in. Dex tossed his keys in the air, caught them, then banged them onto the hook at the wall.

Chowder gave Bitty a long, calculating look, and his expression fell. “Why are you making that face. I hate that face. That’s the face that tells me I’m moving back to the dorms, Bits!”

“Frat house, frat house, frat house,” Dex stage-whispered.

“Keep it up and I’m going to pummel you to death with my rye dough,” Chowder groused.

Dex smirked, but wandered off to the front of the store, presumably to bother Nursey who was manning the barista post. When the door swung shut, Chowder sank into the chair next to Bitty and looked at him.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not yet,” Bitty said, “but it might be. I need to…I don’t know. I need to do something.”

Just then, a firm pounding started at the delivery door, and with a frown, Bitty rose. They weren’t expecting anything, so he was a little on edge until he pulled the door open and stuck his head out. Stood there, looking a little harrowed and worried, was the Providence Falconer’s hockey captain, Sebastien St Martin. He had become a regular of Bitty’s five years back, and several times a year placed huge orders for pies and cookies every time the Falcs had an event.

He looked fresh from practise—hair wet, smelling heavily of aftershave. He gave Bitty a once over, then stepped inside. “I just saw.”

Bitty frowned, then said, “Oh. Right, yeah. Zimmermann’s.”

“I can’t believe it. I cannot believe they’re opening here. In Providence.” His accent go thicker with how angry he was, and he shook his head. “Bob Zimmermann, I just didn’t think he’d be so ruthless.”

“Did you play with him?” Bitty asked. He knew a little about hockey thanks to Marty and the guys, but not a lot. Zimmermann was a name thrown round, but he knew very little details.

“One season on the Pens,” Marty said, waving his hand. “Just before his son was born. Then he was traded back to the Canadiens, and he retired. He just…was always such a nice guy. I didn’t think he’d come after you.”

“Oh I hardly think he’s after me,” Bitty said.

Marty scoffed. “You saw their sign. The place to have a bite, as though Bitty’s Bites will soon be nothing. Well I won’t stand for it. Count on us, alright? For boycotts, signs. We can get that reporter you know? The one you like so much whose obsessed with his iMac? Chad something or other? This would be right up his alley!”

Bitty flushed, not wanting to remind Marty that ‘Chad something-or-other’ was his boyfriend. “Ah well…”

“I have to run,” Marty said, “but you keep me posted, eh? We’ll have this sorted in no time! We’ll run them out! Zimmermanns…” He prattled off something probably rude in French, then was out the door before Bitty could offer him a scone or pie to take along for the ride.

When he turned back to the kitchen, they were all smiling at him.

“What?” he said.

Lardo laughed. “Well, at least we know protests aren’t off the table.”

*** 

“Obsessed with my iMac? Obsessed? As though my appreciation of absolute perfection is something that can be labelled as obsession.” Chad gave an indignant huff as Bitty rolled his eyes.

“Sweetheart, you’re kind of missing the point here. Marty thinks my bakery is in trouble.”

Chad waved him off as he held the door for Bitty, and they began the climb up the stairs, avoiding the queue for the lift. “What does he know. He plays hockey.”

“Isn’t he invested in like, three different businesses?” Bitty questioned.

Chad laughed. “Yes, but you don’t think he has people for that. You’re worrying too much, I think.”

They reached the door and Chad knocked before stepping back, putting his arm round Bitty’s waist. It opened, and Randall Robinson’s face poked out, his mouth stretching into a wide grin. “Hey! You made it! Marty said he ran into you but he forgot to ask if you were still coming.”

“Like I’d miss a chance for the exclusive,” Chad said with a wink.

Thirdy rolled his eyes as Chad slipped by, and he threw his arm round Bitty’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. Gabby came by the other day and would not stop talking about those peach turnovers you made.”

Bitty lifted the box he was carrying. “For you. Not,” he said with emphasis and a stern look, “for the party.”

“I love you,” Thirdy groaned, and hurried to hide them before anyone noticed.

The parties were fairly common, and Bitty had become sort of a fixture in the sports world in spite of leaving it well behind after graduating college thanks to Chad’s job as a sport columnist. His first foray into one of Thirdy’s parties left him intimidated, but by the second one he was enthusiastically embraced by Alexei Mashkov, used as a jungle gym by Thirdy and Marty’s kids, gave baking advice for a first date to Snowy, and every one of them had no problems stopping by the shop whenever they needed a baked good pick-me-up.

Chad was already leaving the bar, a single drink in his hand, so Bitty sighed and queued up behind a guy Bitty didn’t recognise. At first. But then the guy turned and Bitty caught the profile and his eyes blinked, startled.

“I know you,” tumbled from his lips.

The guy turned, looking annoyed for a second, then maybe a little nervous before his face went neutral and an almost media-like smile plastered across his mouth. “Hello.”

“Do you remember me? From the bakery?”

“Yes, of course. How are you?”

Bitty smiled, though the whole thing seemed a bit…off. The guy had been so nice, so friendly and open and very different from the man stood here now. “I’m great. How are your nieces? They were really so cute? Did the little one ever find her Halloween spider?”

He chuckled. “She did. She got several plastic rings from trick-or-treating. Her parents were…not thrilled.” The bartender chose that moment to hand over two glasses of champagne, and he grabbed them. “Sorry, I should go. Thirsty date.”

Something in Bitty’s gut went hot and unpleasant. “It’s Jack, right?”

He smiled, again—fake and plastic. “Jack, yes. And you’re Eric.”

Then he was gone, leaving Eric stood there a little confused for a moment, until the bartender cleared his throat. “Ah. Whiskey sour, thanks.”

By the time he had his drink in hand, he started toward where Chad was enthusiastically talking up the Rangers—a dangerous game, Bitty knew—and he stopped when Snowy grabbed his arm. “Bits,” he said, his accent heavy with the alcohol he had consumed, “I can’t believe you were talking to Jack Zimmermann.”

Bitty froze. “That…that was…that was Jack Zimmermann?”

Snowy laughed. “Son of the legend, the guy who wants to put you out of business?”

Bitty’s throat went dry, angry and aching. “That was…I can’t…” The entire afternoon with the kids and the cookies and the pie…it all came flooding back in a rush, and every single smile Jack had given him turned cold and icy. “I had no idea. Why is he here?”

“Because he’s Jack Zimmermann,” Snowy said with a laugh. He let out a long string of French, shaking his head. “Hockey legend, Bits. Even if he never played.”

Bitty’s cheeks were white-hot with rage, and he glanced over to see Jack filling a plate from the buffet table. Not really thinking, he shoved his drink at Snowy, then rushed over, grabbing his own plate, and sliding up to his side.

“Jack Zimmermann.”

He turned, offering that smile again. “Hello again.”

“Jack Zimmermann,” he spat again. “How…how dare you…you didn’t,” he sputtered, and scooped runner beans onto his plate, trying to control his anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack stared at him, face dull and expressionless. “So you could shout at me and throw me out?”

Bitty scoffed, stuttered, then said, “You were spying on me! That’s why you didn’t say anything. You were spying. I bet you rented those kids. You probably don’t have nieces!”

Jack snorted, then pulled several slices of turkey from a plate, and began to pile them on Bitty’s. When Bitty spluttered, Jack said in that same, even tone, “You need to eat more protein, Bittle.”

“How dare you. How dare you…”

“How dare I what? Have a good afternoon out with my nieces? Take them to paint cookies and have some pie, and a coffee?” He turned, his eyes almost glinting as he began to scoop more food onto Bitty’s plate. “Yes, your place was nearby, and yes, it’s a bakery. I wanted the girls to have fun, okay? It was the only shop in the area who had coffee and baked goods.”

Bitty smirked, and Jack scoffed in his face. 

“You need to accept that will not always be the case. You do what? Seventy-five grand a year in business?”

Bitty’s eyes went wide. “How do you…?”

“Know that?” Jack asked, and smirked again. “I’m in the bakery business.”

Bitty laughed, stepping back as he began to scoop some of the potatoes back onto Jack’s plate. “ _I_ am in the bakery business. You’re nothing but a corporate cog with microwaved scones and pre-packaged breakfast sandwiches.”

“No. I am in the business of offering people things they can afford. They can come in and get what they need, fill a craving, and not break the bank. So you offer homemade baked goods. You’re no more useful than an old grandmother with too much time on her hands. Eventually you’ll come to realise that in this day and age, quantity and affordability will trump quality any time. Yes, your shop is cute. Yes, your pies are good, but that won’t sustain you. You need to accept it, or you’ll never be successful.”

“We’ve been successful before you came along,” Bitty managed.

Jack laughed. “Before you had any real competition. That’s not success, Bittle. It’s a lucky shot.”

Bitty’s words, any retort, died in his throat. His eyes were hot, burning, and the sting of it all was racing through every limb. “I…”

“What?” Jack snapped.

“Babe?”

Bitty’s head turned and he saw Chad sliding up to him, his eyes wide. “Chad,” he managed.

Chad turned to Jack and extended his hand. “Chad Burke, I’m sure you’re heard of me. I’ve done a sit-down with your father before. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been meaning to ask you how it feels to sell your soul to the corporate devil and ruin what this city really means. Really, how do you sleep at night?”

“Time-release melatonin from Saffron Market,” came a voice, and a blonde woman with dark eyes and a red-tinted smile walked up, extending her well-manicured hand to Chad. “Seriously, take it an hour before bed, and it’ll knock you straight out. No hang over when you wake up, and a little shot of B12 and you’re good to go. Camilla Collins. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Chad Burke,” he said, a little dry.

Bitty started to smirk when she said, “Oh I know. Trust me, I’ve been following your career for years now. I’m getting close to retirement and I’ve been looking into reporting. I have a degree in journalism, and I was following that piece you did on Serena last year. It was inspired,” she breathed.

Bitty’s eyes widened as Chad put his hand on his chest. “Really? That’s…that’s so flattering, you know? I mean, I’ve been following her career for years, her and Venus. They’re the sort whose legend will outlive anyone we know today and sometimes I think people aren’t listening to hearing you say that…”

“We should get together for coffee,” she said, just as Bitty’d had enough, and started to drag Chad away. “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Chad cried as Bitty yanked him toward another crowd. “Yes, let’s talk! I’ll have my people call your people!”

*** 

“My god,” Camilla said as she stretched along the bed. “I can’t believe Chad Burke was there tonight. He always seems so…untouchable, you know? When he did that piece on your dad last year, I was hoping we’d get invited. His language is so…you just have to wonder how he got into sports of all things.” 

Jack turned and looked at her, the events of the night running through his head. His heart ached. The look on Eric’s face had almost cracked him. He’d felt provoked, accused, but it was guilt, and he knew it. He dragged a hand down his face, and sighed when she flicked the light off.

“I’m not tired,” he said.

He was met with a snore.

Creeping out of the bed, he shifted to his office, shutting the door, and he flicked his laptop open. Omgcp’s latest message was there, words of affirmation, comfort, reminding him that somewhere in his body—somewhere in the soul he’d sold, just as Eric Bittle had accused him—was a piece of him who still cared. Who wanted to make a difference and be more than…this.

_Omgcp,_

_Do you ever feel like you’re nothing more than a shell of yourself? Like there’s a part of you who just…speaks, uncontrolled and unfettered. You’re provoked and the beast is out and you’re claws and teeth? It makes me wonder if maybe that’s who I am, and the quiet bit of me is nothing more than who I wish I could be, but never will. It keeps me up at night. While the world sleeps, I exist in a skin that doesn’t feel like it fits right, and I don’t know how to live with it. Maybe I truly am a monster. Maybe that’s my curse, or my gift—I suppose it depends on who’s watching. Say nothing to that man, they’ll say, unless you want your heart ripped out._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter cos I have discovered it's rather difficult to translate film montage of scenes where two characters have near misses in public into writing. So....the next update will be longer. We're rounding the bend soon, toward the end!! <3

**Jay,**

**You know, the strange thing is, I know what you mean but I envy you. Lord have mercy, but this person…this…this—well I don’t have a polite word about him, but for the first time in all the mess happening in my life, he made me feel like quitting. He made me feel like throwing in the towel, leaving, and never walking away. What should I have said to him? What could I have said. He opened his mouth, and I just…clammed up. Even now, late into the night with hours between that moment and this one, I’m drawing a blank.**

*** 

“Bits?”

Eric glanced up from his herbal tea at Chad, who was leaning against the doorframe. His brow was furrowed, eyes sleepy, and it was one of few moments in the past several months Bitty understood why they were still together. “Sorry, hun. Did I wake you?”

“Just noticed you weren’t in bed. Everything alright?”

Bitty sighed, curling his fingers round the mug, feeling the warmth seep into his skin. The evening had passed, but he’d been shaken to his core. The sweet man with those adorable girls had turned out to be the one person trying to destroy everything he’d built. The man with the sad eyes and shy smile had turned into a soulless monster who wouldn’t just drive Bitty out financially, but felt compelled to destroy every bit of Bitty’s confidence alongside.

“I’m just…thinking,” he said with a sigh. Chad crossed the room, and when he took a seat, Bitty went on. “I didn’t want a bakery, you know? When I first graduated. I…aww hell I don’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t this. Then my momma helped me open up shop and the first time a customer walked through the doors and smiled round a bite of my pie, I felt…home. Now I’ve got Zimmermann’s trying to destroy everything I got and I don’t…” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know if I have any…meaning, you know? To anyone.”

“Meaning?” Chad asked. He blinked at Bitty, then reached past him for his iMac and flipped the top. The keyboard clicked with the muted, plastic sound as he typed. “You,” he said, then flexed his fingers. “Eric Bittle, you are a wildflower in a field of roses. You stand alone, in a field of everything that’s the same, shining brighter and bigger than anyone.”

Bitty’s phone dinged, and the message appeared on the screen from Chad.

“I’m a wildflower,” he repeated quietly. He looked up, and where he should have been confident, he felt strange. Almost cold. “Chad?”

“Yeah, babe?” Chad asked, now fiddling with something on the screen.

“Isn’t a wildflower just a weed?”

*** 

_Omgcp,_

_There are days when I wish I could pass the monster on. The ability to flay with just a handful of words, without even thinking. I could give it to you, if you wanted it, and allow you to destroy your enemies in one fell swoop. But I have to warn you, the first time it happens—and every other time after that—you’ll find yourself drowning in remorse. It aches, it burns, like a hole in your gut, and it never full heals. But maybe the ache is worth it, to take apart the person who made you feel worthless. Because believe me, you are not worthless. I don’t know much, but I know that I wouldn’t want to get through a single day, without a message from you._

Jack stared at his screen, and the words sat at the tips of his fingers. He drew on courage he didn’t think he’d have, and he typed them, and told himself not to feel disappointed if the answer did—and inevitably would—come back no.

_Do you think we should meet?_

*** 

Bitty slammed his laptop screen shut, panic clawing at his throat. “Meet. Meet. Oh…gracious. Meet.”

Chad was out, and the fear of answering that question, of slipping into that void of Internet Anonymity to see what really lay on the other side, was getting to him. He grabbed his wallet and keys, and slipped out the door, knowing a coffee at Annie’s was just the ticket.

He was just grabbing his PSL, grateful for the warm spice flooding his nostrils, when he turned and saw him. Jack Zimmermann. He might have noticed him before—he was attractive, infuriatingly so—but now he would be able to spot him a mile away. Jack was on his phone chatting in rapid French and wasn’t looking over, so Bitty managed to slip out the door unnoticed, and into the crowded street.

*** 

“Non, maman,” Jack said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Non. _Ouais_ , ça va. Euh… je te rappelle plus tard.” He hung up before she could go on asking him what was wrong because well…nothing _was_ wrong, specifically. And he hated ending the call so abruptly and he _would_ call her back.

At some point.

Later.

When he wasn’t stood across the street from a flower vendor watching, of all people, Eric Bittle buying a bouquet of flowers. Bittle’s back was to him, but Jack would recognise the little cowlicks in his blonde hair shifting in the wind. And he hated that he kind of liked it. He hated that he could think back to that moment in the little bakery with his nieces and Bittle’s quiet laughter and chirps, and smelling the fresh pies and basking in the last vestiges of a warm, October afternoon.

It was something he hadn’t known he wanted, hadn’t known he was craving. Not even after. Not until he let himself think about it. Not until he let himself consider what Providence, and the world, would be losing in just a few short months when Bittle’s sales plummeted, and he had to close.

Jack had seen it before. He had never enjoyed it—he wasn’t sure anyone did, really. His dad and mom didn’t talk about it much, and he knew it was because no one liked putting a face to those numbers. His dad would rather feel triumph over their successes in business than pain knowing that their success meant the failure of someone else.

Someone smaller.

Someone whose shop probably meant a lot more.

Jack hated the uncomfortable feeling settling in his bones, and he turned away to tap a reminder into his phone to call his therapist because he had a feeling this wasn’t going away any time soon. And he had to tell someone what he did. He had to tell someone the easy way those insults and that cruelty had fallen from his lips like the person standing in front of him was no one.

Only he wasn’t no one.

He was a sweet man with a little shop who made Miriam and Eliana smile. He was a kind person who had seen Jack looking tired and worn, and gave him coffee and pie and a grin that stayed with Jack for the entire day.

He understood why both Shitty and his mom mourned the inevitable ending of that place, and he understood his dad’s quiet resignation because it was just too damn late to do anything about it.

He briefly considered turning round and talking to Bittle. Maybe apologising, telling him it wasn’t personal. They hadn’t chosen the street because there was another bakery nearby. It just…happened.

But when he looked up again, the vendor cart was empty, apart from a few buckets missing bright pink daisies.

*** 

One of the few things that hadn’t changed over the years, things that Bitty hadn’t got used to, was the feeling of being so alone on the holidays. Chad went home every year, Bitty stuck minding the shop because holiday orders often made up for when things weren’t selling like he’d hoped.

And this year it was even more important.

But this year he was feeling sadder, and more afraid, and more alone.

The hustle and bustle just before Thanksgiving left him and everyone else exhausted. Chris, Nursey, Dex, and Lardo all offered to stay, but Bitty shooed them off to their families and decided to grab a little something from the supermarket before everything shut down, then to hole himself up on that cold, quiet Thursday to prepare for the madness that would be Friday morning.

He was pushing the trolley down the fresh baked bread aisle, knowing he could whip up some of his own, but having no energy for it, and he was banging doughnuts into the bottom along with a couple of frozen meals when he glanced over and saw… him.

Jack Zimmermann.

With his stupid nice hair and his stupid nice face and his stupid, beautiful sad eyes. His mouth was turned down and his lips were moving over words as he frowned at the ingredients list on a box of dry pasta. Rolling his eyes, Bitty skipped over that aisle as quick as he could, loaded the trolley with food he didn’t need, then hurried to the queues.

There were only three, and they were at least twenty people long each. He felt a prickle of fear that Jack might see him, might notice him and yet again try to humiliate him in public, so he kept his head down and pushed behind a woman with a handbasket full of red wine, and scrolled through his twitter.

Until he heard a throat clear behind him.

Bitty felt his cheeks prickle hot as he turned, and saw Jack standing behind him, expressionless.

“I thought you’d be…euh…home with family?”

Bitty felt irritation race up his spine as Jack attacked him where it hurt most. “Some of us have to work for a living. We don’t have our father’s big bakeries carrying us.”

Jack’s eyebrows went up, but his expression didn’t change. He did peer into Bitty’s trolley though, and Bitty fought back the urge to throw himself over it and cover it so Jack couldn’t see the levels of pathetic he was during this holiday.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said.

Bitty let out a noise of surprise. “I thought you were Canadian.”

Jack chuckled. “I am. We celebrate in October.”

“Oh well,” Bitty said, and struggled for something mean to say. When nothing rose he just said, “Good for you. Now if you don’t mind…”

Jack shrugged, and took a step back, and left Bitty to his wallowing.

Until…

Bitty hadn’t noticed the sign above the register that read, No Cash. The harrowed, exhausted, angry looking cashier stared at Bitty’s handful of twenties, then up to his face. “No cash.”

Bitty blinked. “I…what?”

She pointed to the sign. “No cash.”

“Oh my god,” Bitty groaned, fumbling through his pockets, but he knew he’d left his card at home. He’d done it on purpose, because handing over twenties was easier on days like this. Except today, when he was so upset by Jack he hadn’t even noticed and now… “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he blurted. “This is all I have. Is that okay?”

The cashier’s face dropped into a further scowl. “Sir, I cannot take cash at this register. It’s credit only. You’ll have to get in another line.”

Bitty glanced at the queues around him which had managed to get even longer, and he fought back the burning sensation of tears at the back of his throat. “I’ll just…”

“Here.”

Bitty froze as Jack’s stupidly long arm reached round him with a card, and swiped it in the machine. He blinked, unsure what to do as Jack gave him a gentle nudge forward, signed the screen, and handed Bitty’s receipt over to him.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Jack said again, very soft.

Bitty swallowed, then shoved the money at him as the cashier began to ring up Jack’s few things.

Jack shook his head. “Seriously, it’s…”

“Take it,” Bitty said, harsher than he meant to sound. “You’re already destroying my business. I really don’t want to owe you for all this.” When Jack didn’t move, Bitty said in a strained voice, “Please.”

Jack looked…confused, maybe. A little sad. But he took the cash and gave Bitty a nod, and didn’t say a word as Bitty grabbed the trolley and hurried out.

*** 

**Jay,**

**I’m lonely. I’m scared. This time of year is the worst, and I feel like the Universe is either testing me, or waving a big, red, flashing sign telling me to just give up. I don’t know what to do. I used to be able to smile through it, but it’s getting harder and harder. I’m sorry I haven’t been very talkative lately, but I’ve been going through a lot. The people I love most are so far away, and it’s hard not to feel like the world’s going to swallow you whole.**

**Maybe it’s just this time of year, you know? The holidays, the reminders that everything isn’t exactly how you planned, and probably never will be.**

**When I was little, I wanted to write a book. A cookbook. How silly is that? I was always really close to my grandparents, but especially my maternal grandmother. She and I could cook for hours and hours, and never get tired of it. All of her recipes were from memory, and when she died last year, I thought I’d never be able to breathe again.**

**All of this…this stuff, is making me think maybe I should revisit that idea again. For her. She deserves to be preserved, and I think that might be the best way to do it.**

**Maybe I’m just rambling. Maybe I just need to know someone’s listening. I’m sorry.**

*** 

_Omgcp,_

_Never be sorry for that. Please._

_I’m listening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I did change up the supermarket scene from the original because I always thought that Tom Hanks' character wasn't charming there at all. He sounded so condescending, telling a knock knock joke. I've worked in retail and I was never charmed by those sorts of people. So...different direction a bit, haha.


	6. Chapter 6

Sitting back in the chair, Jack grimaced at the feel of oil on his fingers. He swiped them on the sides of his jeans, but it never went away. The first night of Chanukah was always the busiest, the most food, greasy latkes and fried cheese, piles of roast lamb, sufganiyot, blue-frosted Chanukah cookies. He felt full and uncomfortable and happier than he’d been in a while watching Mimi and Elly glowering at each other over their small piles of gold chocolate coins.

“Uncle Jack?”

Jack blinked out of his thoughts, then glanced over at Elly who was gnawing on her bottom lip. “Ouais, mon petit coeur?”

She abandoned the small dreidel and climbed onto his lap, laying her head on his shoulder. It wouldn’t be long before both girls would be too big to cuddle like this, and he felt like grabbing on, pausing time so they could stay like this.

“Are you sad?”

Jack let out a startled laugh. “Why do you ask?”

“Daddy,” she said with a sigh and a shrug. “He told papa that you was feeling sad. Because you have your sad face and that you’re lonely.”

Jack looked over at Mimi who was unwrapping chocolate and nibbling the edges before putting the rest on the table. “I think sometimes I’m lonely or sad, but that’s okay, isn’t it? Everyone feels sad and lonely from time to time.”

“No,” Elly said with a sigh, looking at her sister. “Not me. I’m never lonely. She’s always around.”

Jack chuckled. “Well, mon ange, you can be around people and still be lonely.” He felt something warm in his chest, thinking of the one person on the planet he knew understood that. Understood him. Then he smiled. “I’m okay though.”

“But maybe don’t you want a nice boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Jack blinked at her. “I…have a girlfriend. You know Camilla.”

Elly pulled a face. “But she hates kids, and she hates daddy and papa aaannnnd she plays tennis.”

Jack chuckled. “Tennis isn’t so bad, you know. And she’s very good.”

“I guess,” Elly said with a dramatic sigh. She sat back and leant her head on his shoulder. “Remember that bakery?”

Jack felt warmth coursing through him then, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant. “Mhm.”

“Can we go there again. Their cookies were real good, and Mr Bitty was real, real nice. He liked you. He looked at you and smiled and got all red in his face the way daddy looks at papa sometimes. Are you guys friends cos you both have shops that have cakes and cookies and stuff?”

Jack licked his lips. “Erm. Well…no, we’re not friends.”

“But…” she said, sitting up with a frown. 

“Sometimes grown ups who do the same thing, like have two shops that are the same, have a hard time being friends because they compete.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Daddy and papa compete when they play hockey but they just kiss each other later and they also promise no hitting during games at all.”

Jack laughed and kissed the side of her head. “I wish it were that simple, mon ange. But in the business world, it’s a little more complicated than agreeing to pull your punches.”

Elly sighed and settled back again. “That’s pretty sad, Uncle Jack.”

“I know, mon petit coeur. I know.”

*** 

**Jay,**

**I wonder when the holidays lost their spirit. I mean, I feel it sometimes. When I’m making cakes and cookies shaped like trees and little Santas and snowmen. And being able to decorate our big tree in the window of the shop. We do a thing every year where the neighbourhood kids come in and make little ornaments to hang up in the window display.**

**I own a shop. Did I ever tell you that?**

**I didn’t know I wanted to do it either. But when I was fresh out of college, my momma and I sat down and she told me to go for it. It was Christmas, and we were curled up in front of the window in Georgia, watching the stars because it never snows on Christmas. I was missing my friends, missing the place I’d been living, and she told me that it wasn’t okay that this wasn’t home anymore.**

**Now I am home, and it feels like it’s all falling apart. I miss her, my momma. She loves me, but who I am is a lot for her I think, and asking for help feels like admitting defeat. I don’t know what to do.**

**My friends want to drag me out for drinks this year, and it’s the least Christmasy thing I can possibly do, but in a way, the last thing I feel like doing is celebrating. When did that happen? I feel like I’m losing myself in this mess.**

**I guess you didn’t sign up for the morose guy, did you? Who sends you nothing but grey skies and clouds. Tell me about your holidays, Jay. The photos you took. Tell me about the best sunrise you’ve ever seen. I hope things are better for you this year, than they are for me.**

**Happy Holidays, Jay. Thank you for being you.**

*** 

“Drink it. What’s the point of being away from family on the holidays if you’re not going to get shitty and pretend like it doesn’t suck.” Lardo elbowed him until he threw back the tequila shot, grimacing more at the lime he was sucking on than the taste of alcohol. He rolled his eyes at her as she leant in and kissed his cheek. “There’s my favourite friend.”

“Chris is your favourite friend,” Bitty quipped.

“He’s everyone’s favourite friend,” Lardo admitted, glancing at Chris and Derek who were making eyes at each other over a pint. “But you’re my oldest, and most important,” she said. Her hand drifted across the bar, fingers lacing with Bitty’s, squeezing tight.

“I love you,” Bitty told her, and squeezed back. “It’s all falling apart, and I don’t know what to do. But I know I love you and I think that means it’s going to be okay.” He grabbed his water with his free hand and took a few sips. “Tell me about this new guy.”

She pinked in her cheeks, but rolled her eyes and sighed. “He’s…I don’t know how to explain him. Strange. White guy, rich, and basically everything I should hate, but it’s hard to because he makes me feel something and it’s been a goddamn long time since I’ve had tingly fingers and toes.”

Bitty couldn’t help his grin. “Sweetheart…that’s. That’s everything.”

She laughed, letting her forehead drop to the counter. “God. I know, right? And it’s so stupid, too. He saw my art in the gallery window and like almost broke the door off the hinges and said he needed it for his shop. When Marcy said that I was there and could talk to him about it, he looked like he was going to cry.”

Bitty shook his head. “That’s somethin’.”

She shrugged. “Like…normally I’d just write him off as one of those moustachioed, white weirdo hipsters who drink like…quinoa milk or whatever. But he started going on about how his job was draining his soul and how my art made him feel like he could battle through it if he had to. He told me about how he wanted to go into environmental law, but his best friend’s company needed help, and now that’s what he did and it was the best and worst decision he’d ever made. Then he asked me out for a drink and we ended up buying a couple forties and smoking a joint in his car and talking for hours.”

“He sounds exactly like what you need right now, darlin.”

She smiled, then let his hand go. “He is. But…what about you. Because we’re not drunk enough, and you’re not talking enough, Bits.”

Bitty lifted two fingers for two more shots, and clinked his glass to hers before pounding it back. “Well,” he said, his voice liquor-thick. “I’m fucking sad. Chad hasn’t been home more’n a few days in weeks, and…our numbers keep getting worse. It feels like I should have all the answers, like the solution is right there, if I only just reached out and took it. But…I don’t know what the hell it is. It’s never been like this before.”

“That’s business,” she said. “It’s heart-wrenching and soul sucking, and it never gets better.”

“Unless you sell out and sacrifice quality for quantity?” Bitty asked.

She laughed. “Yeah, and have NHL millions to back your shit up. I mean, you know Zimmermann’s is because of Bad Bob, right?”

Bitty raised a brow. “The owner.”

“Founder, whatever,” she said, waving her hand. “He won like twenty Stanley Cups and was one of the highest paid players in the NHL. Then his kid was born and he retired and started Zimmermann’s. It was only in Montreal for like…ever.”

“How do you know about this?” Bitty asked.

She laughed. “We studied this shit in business school. I had to write a paper on it. I learnt some fucked up shit, Bits.”

He leant toward her. “Like what?”

“Like his kid, Jack? You know Jack.”

Bitty laughed, the sound bitter and mirthless. “Yeah. I know Jack.”

“Well Zimmermann wanted to keep his kid out of the spotlight. He was diagnosed with a severe anxiety disorder when he was like eight, but the press just wouldn’t stop. Jack was really close with Kent Parson—he was Captain of the Aces, then they traded him to the Rangers and he’s got the A right now. Anyway Kent billeted with the Zimmermanns during his time in the Q and all these rumours started flying around about Kent and Jack like…being a couple. Next thing you know, Jack has a breakdown and attempts suicide like the day before Kent was drafted.”

It hit Bitty strangely, his desire to see Zimmermanns burn to the ground suddenly warring with his empathy for this guy who seemed so…heartless. He licked his lips and said, his voice very low, “What happened?”

“For Jack? Rehab, mostly. Disappeared for a while, I guess he got a degree and then went to work for his dad. After Parse came out, Jack confirmed his former relationship with him and shit hit the fan, then it calmed down. Parse got married and Jack’s with Camilla Collins.”

Bitty sighed. “I know her too. She was…” He tried to ignore the surge of jealousy he had thinking about how Camilla and Chad had reacted to each other. He knew it meant nothing, but it also meant that someone could get Chad to smile like that, to be interested like that, to focus so intently because it was important to him.

What Bitty did…wasn’t.

“She’s a badass,” Lardo said. “And hot.”

Bitty laughed. “She was.”

“Anyway so that’s that story.”

Bitty leant his elbow on the bar, chin on his hand, and he bit his lower lip for a minute. “It doesn’t make it better. What he’s doing. The way he’s come after us like that. It…doesn’t make it okay.”

“No,” Lardo said. “It really doesn’t. I guess my point was just that there’s real people involved here too, you know. Just like us.”

“Do you think it would matter to him if he realised that?” Bitty asked.

She shrugged, tipping back a third shot the bartender set in front of them. “Who the fuck knows, Bits. But we can’t give up.”

He shook his head. “I have no plans to.”

*** 

Slipping into his apartment, Bitty kicked off his shoes, then stripped to a t-shirt and boxers. There was no sign of Chad, no messages saying when he was due in, and at the moment, it was a relief. Everything felt like so much, and the only thing he wanted to do was curl up on the sofa and close his eyes.

Flicking on the TV, Bitty pulled the soft afghan that his mother had made a few years back, and wrapped himself in the soft yarn. He pretended like he could smell her, the soft scents of baking pies, and the flowers she always kept in the window. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he could hear her humming in the kitchen as she whipped up dough for the morning’s coffee cake. He could hear her voice rising and falling over the notes of childhood songs she used to sing to him when he was lonely or afraid.

He knew his life wasn’t for her anymore, that she didn’t quite fit. But lord he missed her.

Bitty’s eyes opened when he heard the sound of blades on ice coming from the TV. He glanced up just in time to see a hockey stick smacking into a puck, sending it flying into a net. He immediately recognised the logo in the centre of the ice. The Falconers.

The scene shifted, and there was Marty, Guy, and Thirdy all smiling, holding familiar cups of coffee in their hands. White, red, with a giant letter Z in the centre.

“For me, it’s a taste of home,” Marty said, in that stilted way sport stars always sounded on TV ads. “For me, it’s always Zimmermann’s.”

Bitty’s eyes filled with tears, and he grabbed at the remote, flicking the TV off. Marty, who had come by his door offering to organise protests. Marty who said he had Bitty’s back…

And that was the way of business, wasn’t it? For Marty it was an agent, it was an ad deal that would put money in his bank account and send his kids to school. And he’d be sorry and maybe he would have even felt bad doing it, but that’s just the world.

Cruel and unkind and cold and unforgiving.

A world that didn’t care that every single pie or cookie or cake Bitty baked was full of love. Was full of years of perfecting recipes. It was a terrified thirteen year old boy making excuses to stay in his momma’s kitchen and work on the peach pie recipe—not because he wanted to bake, but because he didn’t want to face his bullies in the school halls again.

Those recipes had been his escape, and seeing people love them, seeing them smile when they took their first bite—it meant something. It meant his tears, and his ache produced something good, and wonderful.

And it was being ripped away.

He sniffed once, twice, then swiped his hand under his nose, pushed up from the couch, and went for his laptop to talk to the one person who might understand.

*** 

**Jay,**

**It’s the holidays and I’m sure you’re busy wherever you are but…I’ve never felt so lost. I don’t know what to do.**

*** 

Jack stared at the screen, at the little indication that the object of his affections—a man he knew only through a calloused hand holding knitting needles, and shots of sunrises—was online. And needed help.

_Do you need advice? I’m pretty good at advice._

Normally there were hours, if not days between messages, but the three little dots appeared.

He was typing.

*** 

**Can you help?**

_Hi. I’ll do everything I can. What kind of advice do you need._

_Is it…about love?_

**Haha no, but oh my gosh that is so cute, sweetpea.**

**My business is in trouble. We’re…things are falling apart. We’re being attacked by a competitor and I don’t know what to do. It’s never been like this before.**

_Ah. Well. I’m a brilliant business man. It’s what I do. What sort of business do you own?_

**I can’t. I’m sorry. But we agreed no specifics and…**

**And…**

_It’s okay. Really. Without specifics I can’t tell you much except you need a tilly._

**…what? What does that mean?**

_Haha. It’s a hockey term. It means you have to fight._

**Oh my gosh, what is it with everyone and hockey! But okay, so I have to fight. I…don’t know how. I’ve never fought before, Jay. It doesn’t come naturally to me.**

_I know you can do it. If this is important to you, you can do it. I believe in you. When you’re checked into the boards, you push off, and you skate through. You go for the Gordie Howe. You score, you get an assist, and you fight. Don’t let anyone take away what you’ve built. Stay strong._

**You really think I can?**

_I think if anyone can, it’s you._

*** 

Bitty meant to say more, he really did. But it was then that the door opened, and Chad trudged in looking world-weary and exhausted. Bitty slammed his laptop shut just as Chad made his way into the bedroom, and collapsed face-first near his pillow.

“Long week?” Bitty asked.

Chad muttered something into the duvet, but didn’t turn his head.

Bitty shifted onto his side and stared at him. Marty’s words came back to him. Chad was influential in the sport world, and this was baking, but this was also Bad Bob Zimmermann. This was him using his contacts to get Marty—Marty who loved Bitty’s shop—all the Falcs did—to work against him.

Jack wasn’t fighting fair.

So Bitty wouldn’t either.

“I’ve decided I need a tilly. Do you think it would be sort of immoral to have you do a piece on the bakery?”

Chad muttered something else, and Bitty kicked him hard enough to make him lift his head, squinting. “What?”

“A tilly,” Bitty said. “I need a tilly, and I want you to write a piece on the bakery. I want you to drag Zimmermann’s name through the mud. Do you…do you think that’s something you can do? Or would it be a conflict of interest?”

“No,” Chad said.

“No?” Bitty repeated.

“Yes,” Chad said, his voice still sleep-thick. “I can do it. Yes.”

Bitty sat back, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. “Do you know what a tilly is?”

“Hockey term,” Chad said, then flopped down again. “Means a fight.” 

Bitty rolled his eyes, but curled up away from Chad and palmed his phone carefully. Pulling up his app, he hovered over the IM thread, then opened it.

**I’m going to do it. I’m going to fight. Thank you, Jay. That meant everything.**

_You’re welcome. Anything you need, I’m always here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rounding the bend now! Chapter after next, Jack finds out who omgcheckplease actually is.
> 
> Also so...I needed to replace the whole godfather go to the mattresses bit, and I looked for hockey fighting terms for ages and ages and eventually found a website with different terms and phrases. If I'm using 'tilly' wrong well...just go with it haha. Because that was honestly the biggest amount of effort I plan to give to this fic as far as research is concerned. :p


	7. Chapter 7

“Lordy, I feel like my stomach’s livin’ in my throat.” Bitty wrung his hands until Lardo grabbed them, squeezing gently.

“You fucking got this, Bits. We’ve got this. We’re not going down without a fight.”

Bitty licked his lips, but breathed out and nodded, then waved at the line of protesters armed with hand-painted signs and clever chants. There wasn’t a lot. Bitty had envisioned hoards, streets full. There were maybe twenty in all, but he was going to take it.

Chad’s piece had gone live that morning, and there were already hundreds of phone calls coming in to the shop. Bitty’s queue was out the door, and they’d already sold out of every single mini-pie, all their chocolate chip cookies, and Dex couldn’t keep up with the scone demand.

They hadn’t seen business like this in months.

Maybe…maybe it would work.

“The Swallow’s on for you,” Chris shouted.

“You gotta take it, sweetheart,” Bitty said as he was accosted by a reporter who had a recorder, a cup of coffee, and what looked like one of Bitty’s apple pasties.

“…have a minute for the Daily?”

Bitty smiled and nodded. “Sure thing, hun. I got this.”

*** 

Bitty was aching, from head to toe. The protesters said they’d march as long as they needed, days, weeks…but Bitty wasn’t counting on them. They had, however, been on several news networks, and they’d sold out completely. There were no charity runs today.

“…and it’s been no secret, the real treasure of Providence has been Bitty’s Bites for nearly seven years,” Lardo was reading out as Chad paced, nibbled on a cinnamon bun, and grinned to himself. “Handmade everything, bringing you back to grandma’s kitchen, a taste of home you can’t get anywhere. And the truth is, the moment we start believing bulk and discount are better for people, the moment we start believing the endless corporate pockets are worth supporting over hard-working men and women who stick to tradition, who show up at the crack of dawn to make sure you have a taste of comfort and love in a world where there’s so little of it, what have we truly become. Bitty’s Bites is single-handedly proof that in a world of greed and tyranny, you are what you eat.”

Bitty flushed a little as he looked into his cup of coffee, then up again at Chad who looked more than pleased with himself. And it was good. Strange but…effective, he supposed.

“Wow, that’s…” Lardo struggled to find the words. “Well, grabbing.”

“You don’t think it’s too over the top?” Chad asked.

Lardo snorted. “Isn’t that what you were going for?”

Bitty laughed, and Chad shrugged as he walked over to refill his coffee from the carafe.

*** 

Jack was half out of breath, but not from the run. The TVs all over the gym were blasting Eric Bittle’s face, and his words. Shots of the protesters marching in front of their store, and reporter after reporter showing shots of Bittle baking in his bakery kitchen, of him serving families and children and even a few shots of Bitty’s Bites delivering day-old pastry to food kitchens.

“…I’ve met Jack Zimmermann,” Bittle said, and Jack felt his legs slow. He glanced at Shitty who was taking his treadmill at a gentle stroll, then looked back at the TV. “He’s impersonal. He doesn’t care about anything but the almighty dollar. He compared his baked goods to bulk items at Cost-Co.”

Shitty snorted as Jack nearly tripped over himself. “You seriously said that?”

Jack flushed. “Well…I mean. Yes. But…”

Jack’s face appeared on the screen and Jack felt his anxiety creep up. He’d never been good with press, never been good being put on the spot. Cruel, yeah. He could cut to the quick, but when he was asked to speak about something he cared about…though he was starting to doubt his feelings about Zimmermann’s and what he was doing there…

“…Yes, I understand our shops put people out of business. But that’s the way of the market. We sell cheap pastry and coffee. It’s not that complicated.”

The video cut, and Jack found himself gaping at the screen.

“That’s what you said?” Shitty asked with another giggle.

Jack pulled the emergency stop and halted, grabbing the sides of the treadmill. “Well…yes. But I also talked about our charity work, that we make money so we can give back to the community. I said that we have an entire line of cookies that donate half the proceeds to environmental causes. And we have programmes during the summer to help children get excited about STEM fields!”

Shitty sighed and killed his own machine. “Well…you put a face like Bittle’s in front of the camera…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack demanded, swiping his towel along the back of his neck.

Shitty shrugged and took a long drink from his water bottle that Jack suspected was not water. “Just…I mean…look at him. He’s cute.”

“Yes, but he’s also a pain in the ass,” Jack growled.

Shitty chuckled and shook his head. “Just your type, right?”

“Please don’t. He’s cute, but he’s impossible and he’s taking this too far.”

“Too far?” Shitty asked as they started to head for the door. “His entire livelihood is at risk. He’ll be forced to go under, and move back to what? Georgia? Crawl back into the closet and live a lie because you guys decided to open a block away from his shop and people would rather save a buck on factory-processed cookies?”

Jack felt heat flicker through his limbs because no, that wasn’t what he wanted. And that wasn’t what Bob wanted. Bob didn’t put up shops to close other people. They were aware of their competition, yes. And maybe they took winning over other businesses as a triumph because it was business but…

But his father was one of the kindest men he’d ever met. And his mother had done nothing but charity work her entire life. They’d never turned their back on Jack ever, they’d never turned him away or force him to live a lie.

To paint them as villains…

He understood why Eric was taking it personally but it wasn’t. It wasn’t.

“It’s business,” he muttered.

Shitty sighed as he held the door for Jack. “Yeah well, that’s bullshit sometimes, Jackabelle. And if it wasn’t for you, I’d have been out the door years ago.”

*** 

Eric settled into his chair, feeling a little off by how far away Chad was sat, but the elated look on his boyfriend’s face was enough to take the sting out of it.

“No seriously babe,” Chad said, kicking the leg of Bitty’s chair, “like I think I’m gonna drum up so much business from this. This guy, Cory is like…super influential. He started off as a YouTuber and they gave him a job at both E and ESPN. He’s totally prolific.”

If Bitty didn’t know better, he’d think his boyfriend was interested in this guy. And as much as it should have bothered him…Bitty wasn’t sure it did.

The piece started easy enough. Chad was always at ease on camera. Smiling, winking, leaning into Cory’s space when he got passionate about Bitty’s shop. “…and I just…you know normally something like baking wouldn’t even pique my interest. I met Eric when he was on his college hockey team which..haha wasn’t my thing…”

Cory grinned. “Yeah? Football guy?”

Chad flushed. “Lacrosse. We were both captains and we met at a sporting event that all the team captains were hosting. He brought a bunch of pies which…well if anyone knows Samwell University, they know the rivalry between the hockey house and the LAX house. I thought he was going to be one of those guys, you know. Who bakes…”

Bitty winced inwardly, but took a breath and watched.

“…but his passion was really captivating, and you know…I think he makes a difference. Now I still don’t take a lot of stock in hockey, so the name Bad Bob Zimmermann doesn’t hold a lot of weight with me. And the fact that his son didn’t even try. I mean yeah okay, anxiety, but that feels like an excuse…”

“Chad,” Bitty hissed at him. Bitty himself struggled with anxiety related to his PTSD and to hear Chad dismiss it like that…

“Shhh,” Chad ordered, waving his hand. “The good part’s coming up.”

Bitty was red with irritation, but he looked back at Chad who was almost touching Cory now. “…Eric’s shop really does represent who Providence is as a whole. And the fact that these guys can just stroll in here and take over what we, as a community, have built. It’s a travesty. I mean, it’s a corporate act of terror, Cor.”

“Wow,” Cory breathed. “Well I, for one, plan on having my next pie from Bitty’s Bites.”

Chad looked well pleased with himself, and sat back smug as Bitty watched the end of the interview.

“Can I also just say something?” Chad went on during the interview. Real life Chad quickly said, “Oh we can switch it off now. It’s pretty much over. It’s…”

“Yours is the only entertainment show I do watch. So…”

Cory flushed, and winked.

Bitty turned to his boyfriend. “Really?”

Chad flushed and grinned. “What? It’s TV flirting, babe. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Bitty thought maybe he should be upset, but at the moment he was too consumed with what was going to come next. If all this work, if all of this struggle, didn’t make a difference, he would only have one choice. And the thought terrified him.

*** 

Bitty waited until Chris’ car pulled away before locking the door and finding Lardo in the office. Her face told him all he needed to know, but he asked it aloud all the same. “Well?”

She shook her head, her mouth turned down. “I’m sorry, babes. We had that short bump and…we just can’t keep up.”

Bitty sank into the chair, covering his face with his hands, letting out a shaking breath. “I don’t know what to do. I wish my momma was here.”

Lardo leant over, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Might be time to call her, Bits. At the very least, she can point you in some direction.”

Bitty nodded, and as Lardo left, he pulled out his phone and stared at the screen. He could see his reflection in the shining blackness, and even in the foggy image, he could see how tired he looked. How unlike himself. It hurt. He ached.

He swiped the screen on and hovered over her name for only a moment before pushing the contact and letting it ring.

Suzanne only took a moment. “Dicky, baby. How are you?”

Bitty licked his lips and did his best not to sound like he wanted to cry. “I don’t know, momma. It’s…well it’s all gone to hell in a handbasket and I don’t know how to make it better.”

She sighed. “I saw the news. Your daddy said I should come up there, but I didn’t want to overstep.”

“Best that you don’t,” Bitty said. “It’s all been a lot.”

“I never thought Bob Zimmermann would be this cruel. I had such a crush on him growin’ up watching hockey and my goodness his son seemed just like him.”

Bitty scowled. “Yeah well, Jack Zimmermann is…well he’s things I’m just too polite to repeat for my momma’s ears. And I…” He faltered. “I feel like it’s all slipping away. We can’t recover our numbers, and I don’t think it’s gonna last much longer with Chad. But…” His voice wavered and he breathed through it. “Momma, I…I don’t want to pack up and go home. I can’t take a defeat like that.”

“Honey,” Suzanne said. “My sweet boy. You listen to me. If the shop closes, it’s not a defeat. You worked for what you built and sometimes that doesn’t last forever, but that doesn’t mean you failed. It means you just gotta try again, okay? There’s room here if you need it, you know this. But you’re a strong man with a good head on your shoulders. You can do anything you want.”

“I just don’t know what that is,” Bitty breathed.

“Well sweetheart, it might be time to start following your heart.”

*** 

**Jay,**

**Today I’m still lost, but my momma gave me a piece of advice I don’t think I can ignore. So I’m wondering…**

**Do you still want to meet me?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows the events of the film-ish. Bitty gets mean, Jack feels awful. Things are happening.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: descriptions of a mild anxiety attack.
> 
> I'm not sure if this is going to be ten or eleven chapters, but we'll see. I do have an epilogue planned that the film didn't have so that should be good. Not leaving us hanging by ending the fic on their first kiss. Anyway hope you like the update! x

He was three blocks from Annie’s when it hit him. Normally Jack had a lead-in to anxiety attacks. A tingle in his fingers, an unsettled feeling in his gut of impending doom. Sensory overload, even. But for whatever reason, Jack was fine.

And then he wasn’t.

And then he was pressed against the brick wall with his face in his hands, feeling like he was running a marathon just to take a full breath. He was shaking all over, and he could barely feel Shitty’s hands curled round his wrists, feeling for his pulse.

“In and out, my dude. In and out.”

Jack scrambled for cognisant thought, to find his breath, to follow it, guide it. It took so long he thought for just a second that maybe he wasn’t coming out of this one—maybe this was the one that…

“Jackabelle?”

Jack nodded, slowing his lungs, in through his nose, out through his mouth. His heart was still thudding, but the pace was slower, and he was calming down. “Crisse,” he muttered.

“Can I get you anything?”

Jack shook his head, then pushed off from the wall. “Been a while since I’ve had one that bad,” he confessed, swallowing thickly. “I think…”

“Meeting your phantom internet dude you’re head over heels for?”

Jack’s laugh was shaky as he took a few steps forward. “This is terrible, I know. I mean, I haven’t said anything to Camilla and I’m…” He stopped, then shook his head. “Shits. If this guy is even a fraction as amazing as I think he is, I’d be out of my mind not to drop everything and marry him. Tonight.”

Shitty let out a low whistle, not letting Jack’s hand go as they walked. “Sounds like you’re invested.”

“I am,” Jack said. He laughed again, scrubbing his free hand down his face. “It’s…it’s never been like this. No one has ever made me feel safe. I don’t even know how to describe what it’s like to…to…”

“Fall in love with a faceless stranger on the internet?” Shitty offered. “He could be the exact opposite of what you think he is.”

“I know,” Jack said. “And I think that’s why I…” He shook his head, then laughed. “Or maybe the anxiety is because he actually might be everything he’s said. Merde.”

Shitty’s grin didn’t leave his face until they got closer to Annie’s, and Jack tensed up again. “Okay so…did he tell you what he looks like?”

Jack shook his head. “Just that he’d be wearing a brown cardigan and a matching toque.”

Shitty pursed his lips, then when he tried to take a step forward, he found his steps stuttered by Jack’s unmoving body. “Brah…you’re never going to meet him if you don’t actually…you know…meet him.”

Jack was grinning, tense and terrified. “Uh huh.”

Shitty rolled his eyes and let go. “You want me to go look for you?”

“Uh huh.”

Shitty mumbled a few curses under his breath, “Mother fucking glad I love your gorgeous ass, you giant sap I swear to god I…” His words died down as his eyes scanned the crowd and found exactly one person wearing a brown cardigan and brown toque. And his heart stopped because…

Because…

He turned with a slightly hysterical laugh.

“Well?” Jack demanded, sounding on the verge of total breakdown.

Shitty scrubbed a hand down his face. “He uh…” He swallowed. “He’s…attractive.”

“Uh huh,” Jack said, shaking a little. “A…and? And um. What does he look like?”

Shitty glanced back, then again at Jack. “He’s got…” He licked his lips. “He’s kinda…uh. He’s…”

“SHITTY!”

“He’s got the same kinda style as um. That…Eric Bittle guy.”

“Eric Bittle whose bakery is slowly trying to drive me up the wall?” Jack demanded.

Shitty shrugged. “What? You said he was attractive.”

“Yeah, so?” Jack demanded, feeling fear creeping up his spine at the look on Shitty’s face. “So he’s attractive. So who cares about Eric Bittle!”

“Well, m’dude, if you don’t like Eric Bittle…you’re not gonna like this guy.”

Jack felt like he’d been doused in freezing water. “What does…Shitty. Shitty why…” Then he lost his ability to wait any longer. He rushed to Shitty’s side and peered in the window.

There in the corner, sat near the far window looking down at his phone with a tiny smile…was Eric Bittle. In a brown toque and matching cardigain.

It was Eric Bittle.

Every single message, every moment, every confession, came crashing down on Jack. Every night he stayed up imagining having this man in his bed, arms round him, listening to whispered confessions and affection…

Jack didn’t come back to himself until he was crouched on the low wall nearby the café, with Shitty’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“What now?” Shitty asked.

Jack rose, took a step toward the café, then one back. “I…nothing. Now nothing.”

Shitty’s eyes widened. “You’re just going to leave him there? Sat there with no idea what happened to the guy he was falling in love with?”

Jack felt his throat tighten, but his resolve harden. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” When Shitty opened his mouth to protest, Jack held up a hand. “What do you want me to do, Shits? Go in there and say hey, you know me, the guy running you out of town? Well surprise, I’m also the guy who wants to get down on one knee and propose. That’s not going to go over very well.”

Shitty paled, then shook his head. “You owe him more than that.”

Jack’s gaze darkened, icy and angry. “Do I?”

After a long moment, Shitty turned, and walked away.

Jack stood there, across from the café staring for what felt like an eternity. The agreed upon time for his date had come and gone, but Eric sat there in the window, watching the entryway. Jack stayed out of sight, but he could see Eric’s face slowly falling. Lower and lower, the hurt in his eyes warring with Jack’s resolve because this was Eric Bittle…

But this was also Eric Bittle.

Who had been able to give Jack a hope he hadn’t felt in…well, possibly ever.

He wasn’t sure what motivated him, what propelled him to step into the café, but he found himself opening the door and meeting dark brown eyes across the room.

He ignored Eric’s look of incredulity and disappointment as he strolled over and sat, and he cleared his throat as a server quickly approached. “What can I get you?”

“He’s not staying,” Eric said.

Jack smiled sweetly. “I’ll take one of whatever he’s having. Thank you.”

“No,” Eric said as the server walked off, then turned dark eyes on Jack. “No. You are not staying.”

Jack bit his lip, then said, “I’ll just stay until your friend gets here.” He glanced at the wall clock. “Is he late?” Was he toying with him, or was he biding time until he could confess. Maybe if he made Eric hate him enough, it would be easier to walk away. But all Jack could think about was lunging across the table and kissing Eric until neither of them could breathe…coffee shops be damned.

“Why are you here?” Eric demanded, pulling Jack out of his thoughts.

Jack leant back. “I…saw you through the window. Thought I’d say hi.”

“Really.” Eric’s face was deadpan, unimpressed, and Jack felt his defences rising. “Well, that’s very nice of you. You can go now.”

“What happened to that southern hospitality you showed me at your shop?”

“Bless your heart,” Eric said with a snort. “You’ve no idea what my southern hospitality is capable of, Mr Zimmermann.”

Jack could recognise a threat when he heard one, but he’d never been the sort who could back down. He opened his mouth, but just then the server deposited his drink in front of him. It was frilly, with whipped cream and cinnamon, and unlike anything he ever drank.

All the same, he held Eric’s gaze as he lifted it to his mouth and sipped. The sweetness was cloying, overwhelming, and he coughed. “It’s a wonder you can stand more than one of these.”

“Not all of us prefer our food tasteless and teaming with protein powder,” Eric bit back.

Jack chuckled. “Well some of us could do with a little more…”

“Don’t,” Eric snapped, and Jack felt his jaws close without really thinking about it.

The door bell tinkled, and Jack looked behind him to see a group of sorority girls wearing bright red sweaters walking in. “I take it that’s not the date. Do you think he took one look at you through the window and left?”

Eric’s cheeks pinked, and Jack felt a slight wave of guilt but before he could open his mouth to apologise, Eric was speaking. “No. Because he’s unlike you in every way. The person I’m waiting for is kind, he’s funny, he’s complicated in the best ways. He’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to understand and appreciate that. You don’t seem to have a bone in your body that cares about anything except fame and money. He…is worth my time.”

Jack felt it hit him, blow after blow, and while he deserved it, he couldn’t stop the pain. And the words that followed. “And he,” he repeated Eric’s tone, “is not here.”

“If he isn’t coming,” Eric said, now his voice barely a whisper, “there’s a good reason for it.” Silence settled on them, and then Eric said, “Please leave. Please just…please leave.”

Jack rose, but then he turned back to Eric. “I’m not a bad guy,” he said suddenly, almost desperate for Eric to believe that about him because whatever else he was, he was…he was omgcheckplease, he was everything Jack had fallen in love with. “I’m not…”

Eric let out a dry laugh. “I don’t think you’re a bad guy. I think you’re a robot. I think you’re the sort of person who has a cash register where his heart is. You’re nothing more than a bottom line. You called me insignificant and maybe I am, but people remember me, Jack. People know who I am because I brought them joy, I brought them memories, and that lasts. No one is going to remember you, Jack. Because no one remembers those who don’t care.”

Jack’s hands were trembling, and he bowed his head and let out a breath. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

If he had looked back, if he had dared just a moment, he would have seen the heartbreak and regret on Eric’s face.

But he didn’t.

The door to Annie’s swung shut, and the only thing that carried him home was the knowledge that he wanted something more, and that this wouldn’t be his end.

*** 

**Jay,**

**You weren’t there tonight. I…I waited so long, and you never showed. While I was there someone else came in, someone who has made it his mission to make my personal and professional life miserable and I just…I really wanted to see you.**

**I was hoping maybe…you felt the same.**

**If it was something I said, or something I did well…I hope you can forgive me. If you’d rather have this, that’s fine too. Just know whatever happened, you’ve still got me. However you want me.**

*** 

Eric couldn’t chase away the devastated look on his face however hard he tried, however many PSLs he drank that morning. Chris found him nibbling on the edge of a cookie, his eyes bright until he realised what the look on Bitty’s face meant.

“What happened?” he asked, sinking onto the stool near the kneading island.

Bitty sighed. “He was unable to make it.”

Chris’ eyes went wide. “He stood you up?”

Bitty winced. “I…I mean, no? He doesn’t seem like that kind of guy, you know! I just…I’m worried something happened.”

Chris nodded sagely. “Like a car accident. Gosh, Providence traffic is just so terrible, Bits. What if he got pummelled by some drunk person?”

Bitty sighed. He didn’t believe it, but this was helping, even if it was just a little. “He’d be in hospital, full body cast. Not able to call.”

“If he has a concussion, no screens,” Chris said with a firm nod.

The door swung open and Nursey walked in, eyes bright. “Well?”

“He was detained,” Chris said.

Nursey’s face fell. “Aww man, he stood you up? So not chill!”

Bitty covered his face. “He didn’t stand me up! Y’all, he’s a nice guy and I’m not…that bad to look at, am I?”

The staff door opened and Dex walked in with Lardo on his heels. “Do you think he took one look at you and walked out?”

“Oh my god!” Bitty said, mortified that had come up more than once. He watched Dex cross the room with his phone out, scrolling through his feed. “God, what if he hates blondes? Or…what if he hates short people.”

Lardo threw her arm round him. “I’m sure it wasn’t you.”

Dex turned then, holding his phone out. “Check it out. That campus flasher got arrested last night. You don’t think…”

Chris snatched the phone from Dex, and he and Nursey’s faces squashed together to read.

“Oh shit, bro,” Nursey said. “He was arrested like two blocks from Annie’s.”

“Oh my god,” Dex said, levelling a finger at Bitty. “Do you realise what might have happened if he had shown up?”

Bitty covered his face again. “He’s not the dang campus streaker!”

“You could have been assaulted by nudity,” Nursey said. “What if he talked you into joining him!”

“Hey remember that time you thought Chad was the guy leaving flaming bags of dog poo on everyone’s doors?” Chris said, not quite helpfully, reminding Bitty of college days he’d rather not think about.

“Can we just…get to work?” Bitty demanded.

Just then the front doors chimed, and he was desperately glad for the distraction. Jay hadn’t showed up, and he wasn’t sure why. His email had been read, but unanswered. Jay hadn’t posted a new photo, or shown any indication he wanted anything to do with Bitty again.

Aside from not unfollowing him, and that was all Bitty had to cling to right then.

His phone chimed, and his heart leapt into his throat until he saw Chad’s name on the screen.

_Movies tonight?_

Bitty replied with a tiny sigh. **Sure, hun. Whatever you want. I should be done at six.**

*** 

_I don’t know how to start this response. For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you why I wasn’t…_

_I wish I could tell you why it all happened the way it did, but just know from the bottom of my heart, I regret not being there for you the way you needed me._

_I still want to meet you. I’m falling for you and I’m not ready to get go. I just…need a little more time. If you can give me that, if you can forgive me, I’ll be forever in your debt. Please know you’re cared about. You’re the first thing I think about every morning when I wake up. And you give me hope that no one else ever has._

_I’m sorry. But I’m not leaving, for as long as you want me to stay._

*** 

Lardo flicked off the computer screen and spun in her chair, facing Bitty. “Well?”

Staring at the numbers, at the projections, and knowing what was necessary, he felt his throat go tight as he nodded. “Close. I’m…going to close.”

Lardo’s face fell, and she reached across the table, threading her fingers with his. “I love you.”

Bitty sniffed, looking up at her with wide, wet eyes and a half smile. “I know, sweetheart. I love you too.”

Her grin went slightly crooked and she leant back in her chair. “If it helps, my new boyfriend is like…way rich.”

“Rich?” Bitty asked.

Lardo giggled. “Ch’yeah. He sold his soul to the corporate devil, but I bet he’d be willing to kick you a ton of cash if you need it. To get you by.”

Bitty wiped his nose again, then his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “Thanks, hun. But I’ve got savings, and I’ve got a few things to check out. I’m not going anywhere. Not just yet.”

“Okay. Because you’re like my best fucking friend and I’m not willing to give that up, okay?”

Bitty laughed and stood, beckoning her into a hug. “Let’s not tell the boys just yet. I need time to process and Chad’s taking me out to the movies.”

Lardo nodded, her mouth opening to say something. But she changed her mind and gave his cheek a pat. “Let’s go out and get schwasted this weekend and forget our problems, okay?”

“That sounds great,” Bitty replied. He tucked the evidence of his failed endeavour deep into a file folder, locking it in his desk, and then headed out to wait for Chad.

*** 

The movie was tense, Chad and Bitty snapping at each other, and by the end Chad suggested they stop for something to eat. Bitty was calming by the time their appetisers arrived, but he noticed Chad had been staring and fidgeting for some time.

“Honey,” Bitty said, startling Chad out of his thoughts. “Why don’t you just out with it? I decided to close my shop today and I really can’t take anymore cryptic attitude from you.”

Chad’s jaw tensed, then he breathed out and said, “Eric, you’re amazing. I mean…you’re really an amazing person.”

Bitty laughed, and felt both guilty and warm. “Oh honey. So are you.”

Chad winced. “I just mean…you’d never be with anyone who wasn’t worth your time, you know?”

Bitty nodded. “I feel the same way about you.”

Chad’s breath was shaky and he shook his head. “Please…please don’t say that. Fuck. That just makes this so much worse.”

Bitty stared, and it hit him suddenly, and he couldn’t stop the smallest giggle. “You’re breaking up with me.”

Chad looked slightly terrified, like Bitty might jump across the table and hit him, or douse him with wine. “Uh. Yeah?”

Bitty smiled. “You don’t love me.”

Chad shook his head, still terrified. “Uh. No.”

Lowering his face toward his plate, Bitty giggled again. “Oh sweetheart…I don’t love you either.”

Chad made a surprised noise and Bitty looked up quickly. “But…why? I mean…I think we’re pretty great together.”

With a snort, Bitty leant back and shrugged. “Are we? I mean, we don’t have a thing in common, and yeah you make me laugh but…but shouldn’t we want more from someone? Someone who makes us…feel like we can fly?”

Chad flushed and ducked his head. “Yeah. I…yeah.”

It occurred to Bitty right then. Chad’s absences, his long phone calls. “There’s someone else.”

“I wasn’t…we haven’t done anything,” Chad was quick to say. “Really. It’s just…”

“The guy from TV?” Bitty asked.

Chad laughed and covered his face. “I couldn’t help it.”

“He likes the Pens, doesn’t he?”

Chad laughed harder. “God help me…but yeah. He fucking does.”

*** 

**Jay,**

**Tonight I walked into a restaurant for dinner with my boyfriend, and I walked out single. Watching him move his things out of the apartment was the most bitter-sweet experience I’ve had in a long time. I haven’t loved him in years, and I finally felt brave enough to say it aloud. He’ll be happy, I think. Closing the door on that chapter of my life felt like a relief, even if I did sit in the bath and cry. I’m happy but…**

**But it was tough.**

**My store is closing. Did I ever tell you I own a bakery? It was my pride and joy. A piece of my soul, and I have to let it go. I suspect when I close that door for the last time, a good soak with a pretty bath bomb isn’t going to cure it. My heart is broken, and I’m not sure what can make this feeling go away.**

**I know there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. It’s the way of the world. My friend Derek would probably go on about the changing seasons or going with the flow of life or something but…**

**It’s hard to think in those terms. Everything I dreamt about for my future is slipping out of my fingers, and I don’t know where I belong, or what I’m good for. Not worth loving, not worth saving.**

**I know that’s not true. My momma would tan my hide for such talk but some days it’s hard to believe I’ve made a difference to anyone anywhere. I’ll get past it, I know I will. I’m strong, and I’m capable. But tonight I think I’ll let myself feel weak and afraid. At the very least, I think I’ve deserved that moment.**

*** 

Jack stared at the email long enough to make his eyes water. He stood in the lobby of Zimmermann’s, hating every inch of it, knowing what it had done. And part of him still understood—this was business and he couldn’t control what the market did to others.

And part of him wanted to turn tail and run. To pack his things and find a life that didn’t revolve round destroying other people. He wondered how his dad could stomach it. He wondered how anyone could.

His phone buzzed with Camilla’s name on it, letting him know she’d arrived and was waiting for him outside. They hadn’t seen much of each other in a while, and he had a lingering feeling that things were coming to an end for them as well. She was happy, but it wasn’t because of him.

“Hey,” she said, leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

He offered a slight smile before walking her to the passenger side of the car. When he got in, she was watching him with the look that told him she knew something was wrong, and he sighed. “That little bakery round the corner is going under. Officially.”

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

“What?” Jack all-but snapped. “That our millions of dollars put an independent shop out of business so we can add more money to this place?”

“Well it’s not like you don’t do good things with it,” she pointed out. “Shelters, mental health care, safe spaces for LGBT youth…”

“That doesn’t negate the harm we’ve done,” Jack pointed out.

Camilla picked at her nails and sighed. “I get it but also like…if he didn’t think this was a possibility, why’d he get into the business in the first place.”

“Maybe he thought he could make people happy.”

“Well if he didn’t consider the risks, then he’s not the sort of person who should have gotten into the market in the first place.”

Jack felt irritation hit him, and as they pulled up to the kerb at the building, he stared at her. “You really think that?”

She laughed, brushing hair off her shoulder. “Darling, I’m a realist. I understand the world as it is. I play tennis, I’m writing a memoir. Next week when I feel like going to St Barts, I can do that with my money and my child-free life. I come and go as I please, and I like it that way. I’m not looking for anything deeper. I’m not looking to give meaning to moments when smaller shops can’t keep up with corporations. There isn’t anything deeper there, Jack. You’re a fool if you think there is.”

“I guess I’m a fool,” Jack said. He breathed, then, “I want children.”

She blinked at him. “Jack…”

“Not with you,” he added, and watched her relax. “I don’t…I don’t think it’s wrong that you never want a family. And anyone who has ever told you that is a terrible person. But I also think it’s time for me to admit what I want, and…and to stop compromising on that potential future.”

She nodded, her eyes a little soft and a little sad. “So this is it?”

“I…think it is.”

Leaning over the console, she kissed him on the cheek. “I’m gonna call an uber then, okay? And I’ll get my stuff this week and leave the key.”

“No,” Jack said, squeezing her hand. “Stay. I’ll go stay at my dad’s or something. You take your time.”

“Will you be okay?” she asked.

Jack laughed, nodding. “For the first time in a long time…I think I can say yes with absolute confidence.”

Camilla touched his cheek. “I love you, Jack.”

He grinned. “I love you too.”

*** 

_Love is not for the weak. I heard that somewhere, and I always thought that phrase was ridiculous. But tonight I found courage I didn’t know I had, and I ended things with my girlfriend. I did love her. I still do. But in a way, she was safe. She was never going to want the same things as me, and I finally decided it wasn’t worth compromising._

_I’m staying in a little room right now, with a sofa and a mini fridge, and none of the comforts I’ve always been used to, and it feels wonderful. And I’ve never felt this brave._

_I think I have you to thank._

_I want to see you soon. When I’m…when I’m strong enough. But I promise that day is coming. As long as you can be patient with me. I hope you’re feeling a little better. Just remember I’m always here._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I'm trying to finish this story by mid next week, and I think I might accomplish it. In fact, I might get it done by Sunday if I'm inspired enough and lucky enough.
> 
> Second Fun Fact: I LOVED WRITING THIS CHAPTER. I hope you like it too.

“Well, baby?”

Bitty took a breath, hating the way it shook, hating that he felt so weak and so small and terrified. Everyone kept telling him he was brave. Everyone kept telling him closing wasn’t the coward’s way out, and that he should be proud.

And he didn’t feel like a coward. And he was proud.

But it didn’t erase the heartbreak every time those words had to leave his mouth.

“Closing. We’re…we’re closing. Got the signs up and everything.” He tried to hide his sniffle, swiping his hand under his nose.

“Oh my baby,” Suzanne said into the phone. “I should…I should come out there.”

Bitty shook his head, in spite of knowing she couldn’t see him. “No, momma. That’s not…it won’t do either of us any good for you to see me like this. It’s just…Chad moved out and I gotta close up, and I gotta worry about Lardo and the boys and I just…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I feel so lost.”

“I’d say you’ll get through it,” Suzanne said quietly, “but I think you already know that. And I don’t think you need anyone else sayin’ it for a good long time.”

Bitty laughed. “Yeah. And…” He licked his lips, hesitating, then said, “And I think I’m in love.”

“In love?” she repeated.

“I don’t…know him very well. Or well…maybe I do. We been talkin’ for better part of a year now and…it hasn’t been right for either of us but…” He hesitated. “I’ve never met anyone like him before and I’m afraid I’ve built something up in my head that is gonna come crashing down and when it does, with all this other stuff…”

“Sweetheart,” Suzanne said. “Sweetheart, sometimes there are risks worth taking, and there are risks not worth taking. You just gotta decide which side this one falls on.”

Bitty bit his lip, because there was part of him that knew, and part of him that was afraid. The bigger part of him was angry, saw Jack Zimmermann’s cold blue eyes whenever he was lying in the dark. And then a traitorous part of him saw Jack Zimmermann’s soft smile and the way he loved those kids, and the way he was soft and sweet in the bakery that one day. That Jack Zimmermann existed somewhere, and that Jack Zimmermann made Bitty’s closing hurt that much worse. And it made the guilt over what Bitty had said to him in the café that day so much harder to bear.

“I guess I’ll figure it out,” Bitty said quietly.

His momma laughed. “I have complete faith that you will, sweetheart. And if you need anything, you just call.”

“I will,” Bitty said.

Hanging up felt like an ending, in a way, and he put his head down on his desk and cried.

*** 

Bitty had never—and likely would never—experience a pain as sharp and encompassing as he did the moment he locked his shop for the last time. The click of the door, the sharp twang shot up his arm and made his fingers feel numb as he stepped away.

He might have fallen to his knees and sobbed until his lungs burst were it not for a firm arm coming round his waist, and a voice in his ear saying, “Come on, Bits. I booked us some ice time.”

Bitty wanted to tell his friends to fuck off, to leave him alone and just let him wallow, but he knew better than that. And they’d never let him get away with it. Nursey was behind the wheel, Chris next to him, and the back seat was left open for him and Lardo.

The little bell from the shop door dinged in his bag as he shuffled in, another stab in the heart. But he wasn’t alone.

The ride to the arena startled him. It was semi-public, the place where the Falcs skated, but also home to a few of the local figure-skating classes and the occasional public skate. But it was a Thursday night, and it should have been closed so when the back gate opened, he looked at Lardo with his eyebrows up.

“Y’all talking to Marty again?” Bitty asked.

Lardo scoffed. “No. Trust me, he’s going to have to do some serious grovelling if he ever wants back in my good graces. But um…my new dude? He’s kinda got the hook-up for this place. He’s being kinda shady about it, but I decided I won’t interrogate him until after I can get you to smile again.”

Bitty sighed. “Sweetheart, that might be a tall order.”

She shrugged. “You know I’ll wait as long as it takes, Bits. Ride or die.” She offered her fist out, and Bitty bumped it before reaching for the door handle and letting himself out.

His figure skates were in the boot, along with hers, and Chris and Derek’s hockey skates, and they shuffled inside to find the place dimly lit, but open. The ice was freshly cleaned and Bitty felt a sudden ache in his feet to cut through on his blades, to feel that perfect slide under him. He hadn’t indulged in years. After giving up figure skating for hockey in college, then giving up nearly all of it for the bakery, it felt like coming home.

He startled when he heard music, turning to see Chowder putting his iPhone onto a small dock. It wasn’t very loud, but it was soft and melodic and exactly what Bitty needed. His eyes were wet and hot as he laced up, and he felt a profound sense of gratitude when Lardo’s fingers tangled with his own as she tugged him onto the ice.

She wasn’t very good, but she’s gotten better over the last few months which made Bitty wonder, but he didn’t say much as they did slow laps. The place was gorgeous and huge, the echoed of their quiet conversation bouncing off the tin walls.

He glanced over to see Chris skating backward, Derek laughing, hands on Chris’ hips as he edged him into the boards, then kissed him. It was slow and sweet, and warmed Bitty, as much as it made him feel a profound stab of loneliness.

“I see that look,” Lardo said, tugging him away. “Tell me you’re not thinking of Chad.”

Bitty blinked, then laughed. “Oh honey…oh lordy no, not Chad.” He bit his lip, then shuffled his skates back and forth before moving backward. “Just…Jay.”

“Internet guy.”

Bitty shrugged. “He never did tell me why but…he’s been there for me, you know? Says he still wants to meet but he has personal stuff, and hell if I can’t understand that, no one can.”

She looked dubious, but kind as she skated after him. “So you’re holding out?”

“Dunno what I’m doin’.”

Just then, movement caught Bitty’s eye. He glanced up at a room high above speakers, and he guessed it was the VIP box for the Falcs when they had games there.

“What’s up?” Lardo asked.

Bitty shrugged. “Anyone else here?”

“Probably cleaning staff. The boyf said there might be a few people in and out. But we’re allowed to give any of the Falcs the silent treatment if it is them.”

Bitty glanced up again, but whatever he’d seen was gone. The lights had dimmed up there, and the movement was absent. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Really,” Lardo said, nudging him. “You gonna be okay?”

“I reckon so. Eventually,” Bitty replied. “Have to be. I can’t let this one thing break me. If I didn’t let those shitheads in high school break me after lockin’ me in a storage cupboard overnight, I’m not going to let some corporate asshole like Zimmermann run me out of town. I have options.”

“Cookbooks?” Lardo asked with a grin.

Bitty laughed. “Maybe.” He glanced round. “Doesn’t Bad Bob own part of the Falcs?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Lardo said with a small laugh. “Why?”

“Maybe I’ll coach hockey. Maybe I’ll coach the next Bad Bob, watch him rise to the top and wipe the ice with the Falcs for the rest of Bad Bob’s natural life.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh Bits. I knew you were still in there.”

He shoved her, then took off at a fast pace, doing a salchow and landing with his arms wide, and a big grin on his face. It was a lofty goal, probably impossible. But it reminded him there were other things he could do, and it was a big wide world. And he wasn’t alone.

*** 

“Bits? Can I um. Can I talk to you?”

Bitty looked up from where he was unlacing his skates to see Chris stood by, his thumbnail in his mouth. He looked petrified enough to worry Bitty, who shifted over and pat the bench next to him. “Honey. You can talk to me about anything.”

Chris nodded, still pink in the cheeks, and he sat, but didn’t look better. His leg was bouncing, and his fingers had a slight tremble. “I um. So I told Derek I would um.” He swallowed thickly. “Can I just say it in one go, otherwise I’m going to chicken out.”

Bitty stopped unlacing and turned toward Chris. The arena was empty—Lardo and Derek had gone out already to load their things in the car, and Bitty said he and Chris would be out in a minute. “Go ahead. You know I’ll love you no matter what.”

Chris let out a strained laugh. “You say that now but…” He stopped. He breathed. “So yesterday Dex got a call from Zimmermann’s who wanted to let us know that everyone in the shop who was employed by you was being offered a job at one and a half times the salary and they want me as head baker and Dex is going into their IT department and Nursey isn’t sure but I really don’t want to move back to campus and I feel like I’m going to explode whether I say yes or now and…”

He quieted when Bitty touched his hand, then curled his fingers round his wrist and held tight. “Chris, honey. Take the job.”

Chris blinked, looking a little scared and a little startled. “But…”

“I can’t help you. If I somehow managed to get another shop up and running, it won’t be for so long, and it’s…it would be a waste of your talent, and it would be wrong for you to put yourself in harms way or in a place you don’t want to be because of a grudge.”

“But…”

“If you don’t want the job, don’t take it,” Bitty said. “You can sleep on my sofa if you like. But…I’m not angry. I’m not hurt.”

Chris’ chin trembled. “Oh. Um. Well Derek said you’d support us, but I was worried you might say yes even if you hated the idea.”

Bitty laughed, feeling his throat go tight, and he swiped at his eyes with his free hand. “The whole thing’s gonna hurt for a while. And I can’t pretend them taking you on doesn’t feel like another knife in my back, but I know it’s not personal. And they do so much for charity, Chris. They really do. You’re not working for some soulless corporation who doesn’t care about their customers or employees, okay? And I’m…I’m gonna be fine. And I need to know you are too.”

Chris bowed his head and sniffed, then threw his arms round Bitty and hugged him as, laughing, Bitty hugged back. “Thanks, Bits. You promise it’s going to be okay?”

Bitty nodded, pushing Chris back by the shoulders to look him in the eye. “Jack Zimmermann might not be the sweetest guy on the planet, but I’ve seen a side to him that showed me he cares. And I believe in that, okay? For your sake, and for Dex and Derek. And you know you can quit and leave if you need to.” Chris nodded as they stood, but Bitty stopped him with a hand on his arm. “If you sell out any of my moomaw’s recipes to that company though, Christopher, I will hunt you down.”

Chris looked horrified as he stepped back. “Bits. I swear to god I would never…”

Bitty laughed and dragged him in for another hug. “I’m joking, honey. I know. I trust you. Now go on. Go make that money and you show those corporate, pastry-microwaving heathens how apple pie is really done.”

*** 

If Bitty had looked back, if he’d looked hard enough, he would have seen a face in the shadows watching. A mouth which was pinched with worry, turn up just slightly at the corners. Like maybe there was hope.

Except he didn’t turn. He let the door to the arena slam, like a benediction, like the ending to a chapter in his life.

*** 

“Jack?”

Jack glanced up, startled, staring into the worried blue eyes of his mother. He saw her glance down at his hands, and he followed her gaze to the bread he’d shredded all over his plate, and he dropped it with an embarrassed blush. “Euh…”

“Are you alright?”

Jack cleared his throat, remembering he was not alone. He was sat in a rather nice restaurant, now with his dad, mom, and Kent staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Sorry,” he said in a rush. “Sorry I just…”

“I need a refill,” Kent said, wriggling his glass which was mostly ice, with a swallow of whiskey left. “Come on, Zimms. Walk me to the bar.”

Jack didn’t bother pointing out that was pointless—they had a server tripping over themselves to give their table good service since Bob was a notoriously massive tipper. He was just too grateful for the reprieve from both is parents’ constant worrying, and his thoughts which hadn’t given him a moment of peace since the other night at the arena when he’d seen Bittle and his friends come in to skate.

Shitty had warned him about it, too. “Listen, I’m fuckin’ in love with this girl and she happens to be Eric Bittle’s best friend. So they’re gonna come in and skate and have a nice time and you won’t bother them, okay? Let that little glorious slice of Georgie Peach lick his wounds. His store closed tonight and he needs this.”

Jack didn’t tell Shitty that he wasn’t that cruel. Shitty knew. But Shitty wouldn’t be Shitty if he hadn’t given the speech. 

And Jack really hadn’t intended on spying on Bittle and his friend. He’d caught a glimpse of them skating, almost painfully impressed by Bittle’s speed and control on his ice. The jump he’d done had made Jack’s mouth go dry and he fought the urge to open up his IG and just confess right there to get it out of the way.

But when he’d come down, his skates slung over his shoulder, he thought they had gone already. He froze in the shadows, trying to stay quiet, desperate not to interrupt the fragile peace Bittle had gotten from the skate.

And he’d heard it all. Bittle’s sadness, and his defence of both Jack, and of Zimmermann’s. It was unexpected, and it made the sting of how Bittle had taken him apart at Annie’s, feel just a little soothed. Jack didn’t want to be all the way soothed, though. After everything he’d done, he knew he deserved it.

“Okay so like…are we gonna talk about this, or do you just need to get drunk?” Kent asked, waving a glass of whiskey on the rocks under Jack’s nose.

Jack snatched the glass and took a sip. “First of all, you shouldn’t be drinking this. You have playoffs coming up. Second of all, this,” he said, waving his hand absently at Kent, “is none of your business.”

“If you don’t fuckin’ think I don’t know what a pining Jack Zimmermann looks like,” Kent warned, snatching his drink back. “And I know it’s not Camilla.”

Jack choked a little bit on nothing. “No. It’s not…”

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing,” Kent said.

Jack sighed. “It’s not Camilla.”

“So rando internet dude. Got it.”

Jack had only shared a little with Kent, but it had been enough for Kent to pry most of it out of him and Jack wasn’t sure if he regretted the decision or not. “He’s not…it’s not…random.” When Kent raised a brow at him, Jack muttered, “I know who he is now. But please, please don’t ask me. I’m so not ready to um…to even think about it.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck and took in a shaking breath.

Kent cocked his head to the side. “I feel like it’s not just this dude that got you all fucked up.”

Jack shook his head. “No. It isn’t. It’s everything. It’s Zimmermann’s, and it’s not even getting a chance to play hockey. It’s…feeling like I wasn’t allowed to explore what I wanted or needed on my own. And watching my company systematically destroy a small bakery that people loved…”

Kent snorted. “Yeah, man. Aloysha is _not_ fuckin’ pleased about B’s shop going under. He didn’t even realise that was a thing, and now the dude isn’t speaking to him which…whatever I don’t pay much attention to what those dudes get up to in their off time but…yeah.”

Jack winced. He knew why. His dad had called in the favour and the Falcs were reluctant, but their agents pushed the issue, and the proceeds from the sales those ads generated went to charity so it wasn’t all bad. Except it was. Because it wasn’t just the shop Zimmermann’s had messed with. It was a years’ long friendship, and it felt so…wrong.

“It feels wrong,” Jack confessed. “Like I’m in the wrong life.”

“Dissociating?” Kent asked quietly. “I mean it’s totally cool if it is. I know you got your shit handled but…”

“No,” Jack said. “Not…not like that. Just that I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“So do something different,” Kent said, and when Jack shot him an incredulous look, Kent rolled his eyes. “Fucking shit, Zimms. You are a grown-ass man with a fortune in his bank account. Like what’s gonna happen if you tell dad you don’t want to do this anymore? You think he’s going to disown you? Hate you? That dude thinks you walk on fuckin’ water, okay? He quit hockey for you.”

“He quit hockey because he was afraid for me. Because he didn’t think I could handle it,” Jack admitted.

“Stop,” Kent said. “I mean that might be partially true, but you realise if you had asked your dad to pack up and move your fuckin’ shop to another city, he would have. He would set the city ablaze for you. So stop acting like he’s trapped you. You wanna leave? Fucking leave.”

Jack hated Kent. Mostly because he was right. Mostly because he knew that it was his own insecurity in himself that kept him in place. And it was so easy to blame Bob, because his father would have willingly shouldered anything Jack asked him to shoulder. And it was so unfair.

Jack snatched the whiskey away from Kent, drank most of it, then turned and walked back to the table where their food was being served. He gave his parents a tense smile, and after the server walked away, Jack took a breath and said, “I want to talk about my future in Zimmermann’s.”

*** 

It was the most tense conversation Jack had ever had, but he left feeling lighter than before.

His dad stopped him on the street, a hand on his shoulder, and he squeezed. “Mon fils?” Bob said, switching to French, soothing Jack’s nerves with his mother tongue. “Can I ask you something?”

Jack nodded.

“Have you ever been with anyone who makes your heart pound? Your fingers numb? Someone who makes you feel like you’re looking a hundred years into the future when you look into their eyes?”

Jack swallowed. “Ah. No.”

Bob laughed. “I hadn’t either. Until I met your mother. I have made some mistakes, but she’s been by my side through all of them, and I don’t know that I’d do much different. At least, not by her. And I just…” He hesitated, then said, “You know what your uncle always says, right? You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take?”

Jack’s jaw tensed. “I don’t…”

“I just think if you’re ready to leap, don’t let whatever happened in the past stop you. You’re worthy of love. If you know where to find it, go for it.”

Jack felt his cheeks heat up, but he felt a rushing in his spine, and he knew then. He knew it was time. “Merci, papa.”

Bob smiled at him, bright as the sun, and let his shoulder go.

*** 

Wrapped up in a hoodie, dressing gown, and afghan, Bitty sniffed and sneezed into his tissue, hating that he couldn’t get warm. Spring was there, a warmth on the breeze, but the cold was ravaging his body, and the fever was leaving him a shivering mess.

His apartment was a sea of used tissue, half-gone, tepid tea cups, and empty bowls of soup. He felt a sort of loneliness at doing this alone, at having no one to rub his feet or bring him a cold flannel for his forehead. But there was a little bit of peace to it now.

The shop had been closed for a few months, and his savings was still fine. His rent and other bills were paid, and he had offers coming in. His cookbook was in the works, and as sad as he was on some days, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Flopping onto the sofa, he thought he might sleep until the next week, until he was better.

Unfortunately the universe had other ideas. When his buzzer rang, Bitty sat up straight, a frown on his face as he shuffled toward the intercom. “Yes?” he said, then before he could pull his finger away from the button, he sneezed. “Sorry. Uh. Yes?”

“Um. Bittle?”

The voice was…oddly familiar. “Uh?”

“It’s Jack. Zimmermann.”

Bitty stared at the intercom as though it could give him some answers. “J…jack? What um. Are you doing here?”

“I…wanted to. Say hi.”

Bitty blinked. “Look that’s … not the best idea. I’m real real sick.”

“I heard,” Jack said, a hint of amusement in his voice after Bitty sneezed again.

“I’m probably contagious. Sneezing, fever, cough. It’s not real pleasant and I’m sure with your busy schedule, the last thing you need right now is to get some nasty bug so it’s best if you just…”

His words were cut off as a knock sounded at the door, and Bitty jumped back as though it suddenly caught fire. “Lord, this boy,” he muttered.

He scrambled for a minute to right himself, pushing fingers through his hair, perfecting his annoyed face. For a second he considered cleaning but what was the point. It wasn’t like he was going to let Jack in.

With a breath, he opened the door and crossed one arm over his chest. “Mr Zimmermann?”

Jack looked at him, the softest smile, his blue eyes a little heavy-lidded, and he stepped past Bitty’s arm. “Hey, Bittle. Where can I put this?”

Bitty stared, gaping at the nerve of this man, but his eyes fell to a brown paper bag, and a small, wrapped bouquet of flowers. “Um. Um.” He said. “T-table?”

Jack smiled again, then headed over to the table and set everything down. Bitty eventually closed the door as he stared at Jack who unwrapped flowers—pink daisies—and what looked like Styrofoam boxes of take-away, and a thermos of…something.

“I recalled you liking pumpkin spice,” Jack said, tapping the thermos. “Euh…I thought…well we had some left over from winter. It was still good, and Chow made up a batch.”

Bitty felt his shoulders sag, and warmth spread from his belly as he shuffled over to his table and plopped into a chair. Jack was busy rummaging, finding and old, only slightly dusty vase, and filled it partway with water for the flowers.

“How’s he settling in? Chowder?”

“Revolutionising the place. Making microwaves irrelevant.”

Bitty couldn’t help his grin, which was startled off his face as Jack set the daisies on the table. He sniffed, his head foggy and heavy. “I love pink daisies. How’d you know?”

Jack gave him a careful look. “You seemed like the type who might.”

Bitty hummed, the medicine finally kicking in, and he felt a lift—not quite happy, but not sinking into despair. He poked at the petals, which were soft and waxy. “They’re so bright. And…and you know everyone thinks they look the same, but they’re not. Each one has a distinct look, a personality. But you only notice if you actually pay attention.”

Jack smiled again, and the look made Bitty’s heart thump in his chest. “I brought you soup.”

Bitty covered his face. “Jack. You really shouldn’t have. I…why?”

“Because I heard you were sick,” he said. “And I was…afraid you were alone, and I wanted…I thought it might help.”

Bitty peered at him. “Help what?”

“Help you forgive me,” Jack said, his voice very soft. “When…when I ask you to. When you’re ready.”

Bitty hadn’t been rendered speechless much in his life, but he was now. So much so he didn’t protest when Jack eased him up from the table, led him to his bedroom, and tucked him in. He put the soup on the nightstand, and his surprisingly soft hand brushed along Bitty’s forehead, feeling for a temperature.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Jack said quietly.

Bitty blinked at him. “Why are you here?” he whispered.

“I wanted to be your friend. I…what happened with the shop. I didn’t mean…it wasn’t…personal.”

Bitty’s heart clenched. His head was torn in two, because he wanted, but he still hurt so much. “Everyone keeps telling me that. And…and maybe it wasn’t personal to you Jack, but it was to me.”

“It should have been,” Jack said, and lowered himself down next to Bitty’s thigh. “It should have been. I should have never looked at you the way I did. Like you were numbers. I knew better, but I let my insecurity get the best of me, and I’ll never stop being sorry. And maybe we can’t be friends…”

“Jack,” Bitty whispered, but Jack carried on.

“But I’m not going to stop trying. So…feel better, Bits. Okay? The soup is good. It’s from Derek. And enjoy the pumpkin spice. I hear you can’t get those this time of year.” He smiled, then rose and brushed Bitty’s fringe away one last time…

And then he was gone.

Bitty stared after him for a good long time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. Thanks to everyone who stuck with it. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this. <3

“…and he came in and sort of…gave us all a bonus, then told us he was quitting and then he was gone. I think I’d be more terrified if I didn’t like Bob so much!” Chowder said, then fell quiet and whispered, “Sorry, Bits.”

Bitty laughed, shaking his head as he stood in front of the mirror and made sure his hair was behaving under his beanie as best it could in spite of the cowlicks. “Chris, honey, I want you to like your boss. I mean…it’s been months, okay? And I’m doin’ real good and I’m happy. I’m still here and…” He stopped. He wasn’t entirely sure he was surprised that Jack up and quit Zimmermann’s. Bitty hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the day Jack showed up with daisies and soup, and he’d seemed…different.

The person Bitty had met in the café that day, and nothing like the angry business man who had been so unkind.

And Bitty wasn’t one to believe a person was the sum of their most unkind moments.

He needed to believe there was more to Jack Zimmermann than just that.

“…and everything’s good,” he finished after a beat. “You and Derek still coming by this weekend?”

“Yes,” Chowder said excitedly. “I can’t wait to show you pictures of the puppy! He’ll be ready to take home in two weeks and just…gosh. I’m so happy right now.”

Bitty laughed, then reached for his keys and pocketed them. “Good. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. Bye, Bits!”

The call ended, and Bitty put his phone in his pocket, then slipped his earbuds into his ears, and hit the pavement. The moment his trainers caught traction, he began a slow, easy pace for his mid-morning jog.

Bitty had been doing better than he expected. The first few months had been the most rough—waking up at the crack of dawn and getting ready before remembering he had nowhere to go. He spent those dark hours writing recipes, and experimenting in his kitchen. He’d gotten a decent sum of money up-front for his cookbook, buzz for the thing already circulating social media after a few celebrities had picked up on the Zimmermann’s drama—and the Falcs had been pushing it as a way of saying sorry for what had happened.

Bitty wasn’t entirely on speaking terms with them just yet—but he had sent a batch of cupcakes for Marty’s son’s fourth birthday, and he’d baked Tater his favourite berry pie when he’d learnt through sobbing texts from the giant Russian that he hadn’t known about Zimmermann’s until it had all come crashing down.

Things were tense, but getting better.

And though Bitty wasn’t entirely sure being a cookbook author—or TV chef which was what his book agent was angling him toward after offers started coming in from food networks—was how he wanted to end up, it was something. It was a reminder that even though his shop hadn’t lasted, his future was still bright.

Bitty squinted through his shades as he headed into the park, near the river where people were strolling. He started to break a sweat, and decided to stop near a shaded bench for a water break when he saw him. His heart thudded.

There was really no mistaking Jack Zimmermann. Try as he might, Bitty couldn’t forget him, couldn’t hate him. And when he saw the tall, dark-haired man knelt in the grass near a flock of geese, a camera up to his eye, Bitty felt himself go warm all over.

He should leave, was his first thought. He should turn quickly, make his way to anywhere else but this place. Only his body was terrible—a traitor of the worst sort. His feet carried him over, just a few feet away, and before he could stop himself, he plucked an earbud out of his ear and said, “Geese?”

Jack startled, then turned his head and the softest smile—the one Bitty had been sure was just a fever-dream—broke across his face. “Bittle. Hi.”

Bitty rubbed the back of his neck and felt vague embarrassment at how much of a mess he must look from his run. He couldn’t seem to help a smile back, though. “Hey. How um…how are you?”

Jack rose from his knees, brushing against the green stains, and he shrugged as he let the camera fall against his chest, hanging by a thick strap. “I’m good, actually. I…quit, you know. Euh. Zimmermann’s.”

Bitty felt his cheeks grow hot for some reason, and he nodded, pulling the second earbud out. “Chris called this morning and said you were gone. Um. So…is that a good thing or…?”

Jack bit his lip, then took a step forward toward Bitty. “It is. It was my choice. I…I think after everything, it made me realise what I was doing wasn’t…wasn’t what I wanted out of life.”

“So you’re…a photographer now?”

Jack glanced down at the camera against his chest, then laughed. “No. No, this was one of my hobbies when I was in college. I hadn’t spent a lot of time exploring…you know…what I really enjoyed. But I ended up really liking it.” Jack hesitated, then shrugged. “As a hobby. Not sure I’m any good.”

Bitty smiled. “You know, I have a good friend who likes to take pictures of geese.” He flushed, then shrugged. “I mean…not _just_ geese. Sunsets and sunrises, landscape, strangers going for walks, things like that. He’s amazing,” he added, still feeling a little breathless.

Jack’s expressions shifted into something Bitty couldn’t quite read, then went a little sheepish as he said, “You wanna see the shots I got?”

Bitty felt something rushing up his spine, almost frightening, like he was on the verge of having the wind knocked out of him. He had to remind himself this was Jack Zimmermann, and for all that he might be a complicated person, they weren’t friends.

All the same, he found himself reaching out a hand for the camera, and being drawn to Jack’s side, peering over his forearm at the small screen. It was hard to make out the shots the way they’d be in high-def, stretched on a screen, but they were beautiful all the same.

“That’s…amazing,” Bitty said. “Really, Jack. I’m impressed.”

“Is that an actual compliment from Eric Bittle?” Jack chirped.

Bitty’s mouth fell open and he took a step back. “Hey. It’s not my fault. You just…” His words faltered, and Jack’s expression fell just a little bit.

“I bring out the worst in you?” he offered in a small voice.

Bitty swallowed thickly, then took a step back. “I don’t mean to. It’s…”

“I understand. I should let you get back to your run.”

Bitty nodded, taking another step away. “And I should…let you get back to the geese.”

“At least they seem to like me,” Jack said, but there was a tiny smile on his lips with that one, and Bitty couldn’t help but return it before he turned on his heel, and ran.

*** 

**Jay,**

**Do you ever think about the depths of people? How we so often hide huge parts of who we are? Maybe it’s just to protect ourselves, our most vulnerable parts, but maybe it’s for another reason, you know? Fear. Insecurity. Because showing that to the world would give them an easy way to pick us apart.**

**I always think I’m a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, but I don’t know how true that is. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but I’ve spent a lot of years hidin’ parts of me…the parts of me I used to show until the boys at school locked me in a utility cupboard overnight. The bits of me that had me shoved into lockers and sent me home tryin’ to hide black eyes and split lips from my momma and daddy.**

**And I never felt protected, so I suppose I guarded myself. Bits of me snuck out from time to time, making me who I am, and there are people who have seen all of me. The sweet side, and the ugly. A person who I thought was my enemy, but I can’t help thinking about him now without at least a small smile—and he’s seen the cruellest I can get.**

**And it’s funny because I think back on what you told me before, Jay. How when I finally was able to say the things I meant to, how it would hurt.**

**It did. The moment I said it, and even now when I run into him on my morning jog.**

**Some days I feel like he deserved it. He destroyed the life I built—even if it wasn’t personal, and let me tell you how much I hate to hear that, because I deserve to be seen as a person. But then sometimes I think, like my momma always said, when God closes a door, he opens a window. Now I’m not really one for God, if we’re bein’ honest, but there’s an entire life I could be living right now, and I never would have thought about it if I was still at my store.**

**Is it wrong to hate him a little less? Is it wrong to feel good thinking about the times I made him smile?**

**It’s as confusing as all get-out, and I don’t know if there’s a solution. But I’m happy, and it’s been a while since I could say that honestly. I know we haven’t spoke as much, I know you got a lot going on, but I miss you. I still think about you. You’re still important.**

****

*** 

_I don’t have much time to reply, but all I can say is, what you’re feeling isn’t wrong. If you forgive him, for even a little of what he’s done it’s more than he deserves. But it’s not about him, remember that. It’s about you. Do it for you. Everyone deserves a second chance, and everyone deserves to be seen for who they are—all of it. The brave, strong man who ran a shop and closed it. And the boy left behind in that utility closet. It doesn’t make you less. It makes you whole, and I’ll always find that beautiful._

_I’ll try to write more when I can. There’s not a morning that goes by where you aren’t my first thought._

*** 

Jack tried to tell himself that he wasn’t there on purpose, that he hadn’t memories Bittle’s jogging path, but he was never good at lying to himself.

He knew he should confess, but he wasn’t ready. He didn’t have it in him until he knew there was a chance, until he knew Bitty might—even if it was just a might—forgive him.

For now, he distracted himself. For now he put other things on the backburner—like deciding what he was going to do after all of this. Where his future was headed, what he wanted to leave behind in the past. He poured it all into his photos, capturing the people, the landscape, mornings and nights, days and afternoons.

He was in the middle of getting a macro-shot of a dragonfly hovering in a patch of sunlight under the branch of a willow when he heard his name spoken soft and careful. “Hey, Jack.”

Jack snapped the shot. Then another, and another before he rose, gathered himself, and managed a smile. They came easy these days, at the sight of Bittle’s face, at the way he could look at Jack without that abject hatred.

“Bittle. Nice run?”

Bittle shrugged. “Getting warmer, but it’s not like it is in Georgia. Lordy, by this time I’d be sweatin’ harder than a long-tailed cat in a room full’a rockin’ chairs.”

Jack felt himself blush, utterly and almost painfully charmed by Bittle’s soft accent and big, brown eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, and glanced round for something—anything—that might keep this going. His eyes landed on a sign. It was a beacon, a reminder of a painful past when Jack had learnt the truth—but in a way might offer hope.

“How about a coffee? My treat?”

Bittle’s gaze followed his own, and settled on Annie’s sigh. “Oh. Um.”

“Come on,” Jack said, gently reaching over to nudge Bittle with his elbow. “I’ll buy you whatever ridiculously sweet thing you want. It’s…” His voice went a little quieter. “It’s the least I can do.”

Bittle’s face shifted, and he sighed, and there was the barest quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. Fine. But a scone as well. I love Annie’s scones.”

Jack laughed, then nodded and beckoned Bittle along. “Fine. And a scone.”

*** 

“…and it seems so…I don’t even know. Not me. My momma’s just about losin’ her mind over the thought of her little Dicky havin’ his own cookbook. The emails have been coming hourly some days, I swear this woman.”

Helplessly charmed, Jack couldn’t keep his smile away as he pushed the rim of his black coffee mug against his bottom lip. “A chance for her to be immortalised, eh?”

Bittle laughed. “Lord I forget how Canadian you are. Eh,” he said and giggled, waving his hand. “Anyway, the photos I’ve gotten so far have just been…” He sighed and shrugged. “They don’t really capture what I’m going for, you know? They fall so flat.”

Jack hesitated, the offer budding in his throat but falling back before he could say it. He took a sip of his coffee, then cleared his throat and went for it. “I could…try? If you like? If you want to make up some of the recipes, I could photograph them for you.”

Bittle blinked in surprise, then he sat back. “I…that might…actually work.” He stared at Jack for a minute. “Is this because you feel bad?”

Jack shrugged. “I mean…a little bit, yes. But also because I think it’s a good idea and I’m still trying to find myself outside of my dad’s company. I think it could be good for the both of us. I know you hate me still but…”

“I don’t,” Bittle said softly, and the sound was so genuine it made Jack’s heart ache fiercely. “I don’t hate you, Jack. I hate what happened, and I’m still so hurt but…” He shook his head. “It would be such a waste, don’t you think? If we kept on hatin’ each other?”

Jack was silent for a long moment, and then he confessed, “I never hated you, Bittle. Never.”

*** 

Bitty was all nerves. He’d been having lunch with Jack nearly every day for the past two weeks trying to work out timing for the photo shoot. Jack had promised to provide all the equipment, and Bitty’s sole job would be to cook, bake, and create test subjects.

It meant spending two whole days working far slower than he preferred, to get everything as perfect-looking as he could. At this point, it didn’t matter about the taste, though it was a horrifying thought he might compromise flavour for the sake of visual aesthetic.

Jack was meant to arrive in ten minutes, and Bitty was putting the final touches on the bundt cake with a fine dusting of caster sugar when the buzzer rang. This time, he didn’t feel annoyance or fear, but instead a rushing up his spine like maybe this meant something. He ignored that, of course, taking a few deep breaths before letting Jack in.

And it wasn’t like Jack hadn’t been there before. He’d lingered in Bitty’s space when Bitty was poorly, and the echo of Jack’s hand brushing away his fringe had lasted for weeks and weeks. Now having him there by invite, by want, was…a lot. But he didn’t hate it.

“Alright erm,” Bitty said, rubbing the back of his neck as he spun round. “Any place you might want to set up?”

Jack hesitated, then said, “If I promise to put it all back, how do you feel about me moving furniture?”

It turned out, the streams of sunlight through Bitty’s front window provided the perfect lighting. Jack used a second lamp just to highlight any of the shadowy areas, but the sunlight gave a perfect, hazy-gold glow to the pies Jack set up on a white and red checked linen. Jack had props as well—wooden spoons and serving forks, foggy glasses, fake autumn-coloured leaves and flowers in oranges and reds.

Bitty found himself captivated, unable to say or do much as he watched Jack arrange everything and lay down on his belly, or up on his knees, for the perfect shot. Jack took his time, unhurried, and looking as content as Bitty had ever seen him look before. And the truth was, Bitty had watched him a lot, as often as he thought he could get away with.

This. This was Jack in his element and it was doing things to Bitty’s insides.

After it was finished, Bitty put everything on the counter except the apple pie which he set on the centre cushion of the sofa, and produced two forks. Jack looked at him for a minute, and Bitty rolled his eyes. “Come on, you know my pies are good.”

Jack managed a small laugh, and a little huff as he shuffled to the sofa where it was still shoved against the bookcase, and collapsed with a small groan. “Fine. And yes, I know your pies are good. The one you sent home didn’t last through the girls’ stay.”

Bitty softened at that. “How are they? Your nieces?”

“They’re good,” Jack said, digging through the crust without cutting a proper slice, just like Bitty was doing. He chewed on a bit of soft, cinnamon apple. “I miss them. I mean, they’re here, but life is so busy all the time and with their dads in hockey…”

Bitty froze. “Those girls…”

“Kent and Alexei.”

“Mashkov,” Bitty said. “Tater.”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah. Kent was my ex. We dated a long, long time ago when he billeted with my family. When hockey was still…” Jack trailed off.

Bitty cocked his head to the side. “Hockey was still?” he pressed, then blushed. “Lord, I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Jack shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s…my dad was always worried. You know? Because the media wouldn’t leave me or my mother alone. He was afraid it would get bad, so he quit. He couldn’t stay too far, obviously. Even Zimmermann’s wasn’t enough. But every time I showed interest he…would come up with a reason why I couldn’t. It started to become a lot and eventually it got to be too much.”

Bitty knew the end of that story. Everyone who knew anything about Jack Zimmermann knew the end of that story. The story that was almost the end of Jack Zimmermann, and in that moment Bitty had never felt more profoundly grateful that Jack was still here, sat with him on his sofa, eating day-old pie.

“When I was six, my momma and daddy took me to Disney on Ice,” Bitty said quietly, profoundly aware of just how much of Jack’s attention was on him. “I was…enthralled, with the way the skaters moved. They were so graceful, so beautiful. I wanted that, more than anything in the world. My daddy was a football coach so his son figure skatin’ was…” He laughed a little bitterly. “But momma convinced him to let me. Said it might help my game when I was old enough. NFL players do ballet and all sorts of things, you know? So he allowed it, and I fell in love.” He swallowed. “But the people in my town weren’t very nice about it the older I got and…well.” He sighed and looked away from Jack’s intense gaze. “My daddy made me quit, eventually. For my own good. He said…” Bitty stopped and laughed bitterly, and realised he couldn’t go on.

“You don’t have to tell me, Bittle,” Jack said, soft and honest.

Bitty shrugged. “Nah. I’m not ashamed anymore. It’s just…I know how cruel the world can be. And I know how painful it is when the people who love you most make the decisions that hurt you most—and they say it’s for your own good.”

“Do you still skate?” Jack asked.

Bitty nodded. “Sometimes the boys, Lardo, and I will get some ice time. Not as much as I want to but…” He trailed off and hummed round a bite of pie. “It’s enough.”

“I know how that feels,” Jack said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The feeling of it being enough. Doesn’t always feel great though.”

Bitty laughed, this time without the bitterness, and he leant back against the sofa cushion. “Yeah. Sometimes it doesn’t. But…sometimes it really does.”

*** 

The photos came out amazing. Bitty was near tears as he flicked through the email, and he told Jack so before sending them off to the publisher. It would be a while before he got the okay, and then there would be contracting Jack for the rights, and setting up the rest of the photos for the book.

It meant working with Jack for some time, and Bitty was startled by how much he didn’t hate the idea.

And how excited he was to tell Jack about it.

*** 

Bitty was only vaguely startled when Jack sent him the address to the arena, and a code to get in through the staff gate. He spent the whole time walking through the corridors, toward the rink with his skates hanging over his shoulder, feeling like at any second someone would pop in to kick him out.

But it didn’t happen.

Instead he walked into the arena to find Jack already on the ice, making slow circles round the Falc’s logo which was slightly foggy from having sat under cold ice since the last game. Jack noticed Bitty right away, and gave a soft smile, staying back as Bitty slipped onto a bench to lace up.

The first slide of ice was soothing under Bitty’s blades, and he did several quick, wide laps before taking a couple of waltz jumps. He wobbled on the first, but landed the second with steady legs and arms wide, grinning at Jack whose cheeks were pink—maybe from the cold. Maybe from something else.

Bitty was absolutely not ready to think about that just yet.

He came in close, grinning still, and laughed when Jack grabbed his hand and pushed him into a slight spin. “So. I have good news for you, Mr Zimmermann.”

Jack’s smile matched Bitty’s. “Ah, ouais?”

Bitty flushed at the sound of French, and cleared his throat. “My publisher loved the photos. She said she’s got someone to contact you soon about a contract. But they want you to do the whole book um. If you’re willin’.”

Jack blinked, then let out a startled laugh.

“What?” Bitty asked.

Jack slowly skated over, keeping his voice low. “I just…never thought I’d be doing something like that. Crisse it’s…” He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it slightly, and Bitty—for just a second—caught a glimpse of morning, freshly woken Jack and it made him shiver _all over_. “It feels good. Freeing.”

“How does your dad feel about it?” Bitty asked. “The whole…leaving Zimmermann’s. Lord, does he blame me?”

Jack laughed, hip checking Bitty before they started skating wide loops round the rink. “He doesn’t blame you. For all that my father can be…intense and overwhelming, he just wants me to be happy. There are plenty of people to run Zimmermann’s. It was my fault, for not telling him I wasn’t happy there for this long.”

“Do you think,” Bitty said, then stopped himself because no. No, they were having a good time and he didn’t want to ruin this. And there was still the matter of Jay and knowing that was in the background, waiting, made Bitty’s head spin. God if only Jay could be…

He stopped himself again.

He looked up to see Jack watching him, his expression a little sad, a little wary. “Bits.”

Bitty swallowed. “If he knew it was me. If he knew me… would he have…”

“I think,” Jack said slowly, voice wavering just slightly. “I think my father is surrounded by a lot of privilege and he doesn’t think about things all the time, because he doesn’t always have to. And maybe if he knew you personally, that might have changed things. But not completely. Because we’re still Zimmermann’s and sometimes smaller companies going out of business is inevitable. I don’t think it ever feels good. I promise you, Bittle, my dad is a good person. He’s…one of the best I’ve ever known.”

“I believe you,” Bitty said, the pain in his voice there, but small. And it was true. He knew how much Bob had been there for Jack during the worst time in Jack’s life, and he couldn’t say his own father would have been. Maybe…but there was never a way to be sure, and Bitty wasn’t sure he wanted to ever test that theory. “I’m…I’m not angry anymore, Jack.”

Jack’s look was intense, and Bitty didn’t realise he was being backed into the boards until he felt them against his backside. Jack was close, and all Bitty would have to do was tilt his head, was lean in.

“I’m seeing someone,” Bitty muttered.

Jack froze, and the look on his face was unreadable. It wasn’t disappointment, and it wasn’t surprise. It wasn’t hurt. Bitty hated how much he couldn’t read him.

“Okay,” Jack said eventually.

“I don’t…” Bitty swallowed. Telling Jack this hurt worse than he expected. “I mean we’re not together. But I like him. I’ve never…we haven’t really met. Things are complicated for him, but…I owe him a chance to try. I’m sorry.”

Jack shook his head. “It’s okay. Whatever you want to give me is more than I deserve,” he said. “And…I’m grateful for it. Even if it doesn’t go past this moment.”

Bitty wanted to cry, but he didn’t. Instead he said, “You’ll do the photos for me, won’t you?”

Jack nodded, and smiled. “Of course, Bittle. Nothing on earth would make me turn it down.”

Going home without a kiss, without Jack in his arms, was the emptiest Bitty had felt in a long time.

*** 

**Jay,**

**Can we meet? I know it might be too soon, and maybe I’m asking too much, but I think I need this. I need to know it’s something because if it isn’t, I think I’m ready to move on. I’m sorry.**

*** 

_Don’t be sorry. I want to meet. The park by Annie’s, the bridge over the creek. Let’s meet Thursday at four. How does that sound?_

*** 

**Jay,**

**Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.**

*** 

“Today? You’re meeting him today?” Jack asked.

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Yes, Jack. I’m meeting him today.”

“And you aren’t terrified?” Jack asked.

“What? What would I be terrified of?”

Shrugging, Jack sat back in his seat and smiled the chirpy smile Bitty had come to love so much he ached. “I don’t know. I mean…he could be…a hundred and two years old.”

“Oh my god, he knows how to use Instagram, Jack. He’s not a hundred and two!”

Jack chuckled. “So does my mémé and she lives in a log cabin in Beaupré. Population three thousand.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m sure he’s not a hundred and two.”

“What if he’s…” Jack said slowly, grinning, “...a hockey player.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “I’m sure one of the Falcs is running a secret Instagram account and has nothing better to do than sweep a lil southern baker off his feet and make him fall head over heels in love.”

At that, Jack froze and Bitty felt guilt course through him as Jack said in a voice so small, “You’re in love?”

Bitty flushed, shrugging. “I mean…I know it’s not…it ain’t like I’m gonna marry the guy, you know? Not today, anyway. But Jack…he’s…”

“He’s what?” Jack pressed. “You don’t even know him.”

“No,” Bitty said very slowly, “but also I do. I know parts of him he doesn’t share with the world, and he knows those parts of me too. And every time I felt like the world was too much, or life was too much, he was there. Just a few words from him made me remember that at least one person on this planet thought I was worth something.”

Jack stared down at his hands, then said, “I hope you know it’s not just one person, Bits. Even if it feels like that sometime.”

Bitty didn’t speak until Jack looked up again, and when he had his gaze firmly fixed to his own he said, “I know, Jack. And I hope you know people care about you too.”

The smallest smile broke across Jack’s face, making Bitty’s heart lurch. “People?”

Bitty rolled his eyes and kicked at him again as he couldn’t hide his smile, saying, “Yes Jack. People.” Then he added, “I just might be one of ‘em.”

They walked a while after that, and talked, and the more they walked and talked, the more Bitty felt reluctant to leave. The step he was taking was huge, and important, but every time the back of his hand brushed against Jack’s, the more he wanted to turn it and hold on, and never let go.

Lord. Falling for the enemy and he couldn’t seem to help himself. And it was that much worse because he knew now without a doubt Jack wanted him back. He knew now what it could be and god…it wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

But the hours were ticking down, and Bitty had to go.

“It’s almost time,” he said, his voice soft and pained. They were right round the corner from his, and he’d spend an hour getting ready, a half hour walking to the bridge, and possibly the rest of his life regretting this decision.

It was by the skin of his teeth he didn’t pull out his phone, text Jay, and cancel the whole thing.

It maybe was the fact that Jack reached out and took both his hands in his own—soft and warm and so perfect. His blue eyes met Bitty’s dark ones, and his mouth was soft and easy. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know, but,” Bitty said, his voice breaking.

“Maybe in another universe, eh? Where I wasn’t Jack Zimmermann, and you weren’t Eric Bittle. And I came into your shop for a cup of coffee and a slice of pie. And you leant over the counter and smiled at me the way you do, and you captured my heart right there.” Bitty opened his mouth to reply, but Jack went on. “Maybe…for as long as we both shall live.”

Bitty couldn’t stop his eyes from growing wet and warm, his throat from going tight. He tried desperately to speak round the lump there, but it was almost impossible. “Jack,” he managed.

Jack shook his head, then brought Bitty’s hand to his mouth, his lips brushing softly across his knuckles. “It’ll be alright, Bits. I promise. Now…go meet your date.”

Bitty nodded, and as though Jack was carving out his heart as he did it, he let Bitty go.

*** 

It felt like eternity, agony, and Bitty wasn’t sure what he was going to say when he finally saw Jay because for all that he’d been head over heels, Jack had come in and infected him. Jack had come in and made it so any man who walked up to Bitty wouldn’t be tall enough, or dark-haired enough, or blue-eyed, enough, or Quebecois enough.

They wouldn’t be Jack and it would feel all wrong, and Bitty had never even gotten to kiss Jack and that in itself would live like a black mark on his heart forever.

He gripped the railings of the bridge and tipped his head toward the water and breathed.

His eyes squeezed shut, and he held them even tighter as he knew four o’clock had come, and he could hear footsteps on the bridge. He breathed, and he prayed. Then he opened his eyes and turned.

It was, in a way, like a near-death experience. Seeing Jack, watching him there with a shy smile and his hands in his pockets, and a little bit of fear because under any other circumstances Bitty should have been furious. Bitty should have shouted and raged because he’d been lied to.

But instead the relief of it was so overwhelming he couldn’t do anything but run, and let Jack’s huge arms catch him, and let his warm, glorious mouth capture Bitty’s in a kiss he never wanted to end. Ever.

When they broke apart, Jack’s hand still on Bitty’s face, they pushed their foreheads together and Bitty let out a wet laugh. “It had to be you. I couldn’t have lived with it being anyone else.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I knew and I’m sorry but I had to…I had to know you’d give me a chance because I’ve been so in love with you for so long.”

Bitty shook his head and he thought maybe, maybe in years to come he’d be angry, or disappointed. But even that would be eclipsed by the fact that he loved Jack too. He loved him and he had him, and Jack had let him love him on his own terms, slow and steady until Bitty couldn’t be anything other than head-over-heels.

And it was perfect.

Jack held him close, and they kissed again. Bitty felt his heart swell as Jack lifted him onto the bridge railing, fitting easily between Bitty’s thighs, and held him tight as their lips danced, a soft press of tongue, and shared breath.

“For as long as we both shall live?” Bitty murmured.

Jack grinned against his lips, and nodded. “Yes, Bits. I’m here, and nothing can ever drag me away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided against an epilogue for now. I feel like it ended the way it should have. I might change my mind later in the future, but for now I'm leaving it as is. They both lived happily ever after.


End file.
